Stop, stranger stop, let one sad tear bedew
That sorrowing face, while this cold stone you view:
Here death in icy arms confines that fair,
Who once was lovely as the angels are;
But think not strange--------ever to behold
Transcendent worth on sculptur’d marble told;
Ah no!--suffice it, if one mournful tear
Shall mix with mine in tender sorrow here.
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every
Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and
Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are
taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9,
Maiden-Lane._
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_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, September 7, 1796.+ [+No. 62.+