Charlotte Smith(1749–1806)
Ode to Death
Friend of the wretched! wherefore 0 should the eyewhy
Of blank Despair, whence tears have ceased to flow,
Be turned from thee—Ah! wherefore fears to die
He, who compelled each poignant grief to know,
Drains to its lowest dregs the cup of woe
Would Cowardice postpone thy calm embrace,
To linger out long years in torturing pain
Or not prefer thee to the ills that chase
Him, who too much impoverished to obtain
From British Themis 4 right, implores her aid in vain!
Sharp goading Indigence 0 who would not fly, poverty
That urges toil the exhausted strength above
Or shun the once fond friend's averted eye
Or who to thy asylum not remove,
To lose the wasting pain of unrequited love
Can then the wounded wretch who must deplore
What most she loved, to thy cold arms consigned,
Who hears the voice that soothed her soul no more,5
Fear thee, O Death!—Or hug the chains that bind
To joyless, cheerless life, her sick, reluctant mind
Oh! Misery's Cure; who e'er in pale dismay
Has watched the angel form they could not save,
And seen their dearest blessing tore away,
May well the terrors of thy triumph brave,
Nor pause in fearful dread before the opening grave!