The poem
FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc’d my darling’s heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour’d laid; So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age’s future shade.
The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish’d young; So I, for my lost darling’s sake, Lament the live-day long.
Death, oft I’ve feared thy fatal blow. Now, fond, I bare my breast; O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest!