"
O then her mourning-coach was called,
The sledge moved slowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not loved her favourite more.
She followed him, prepared to view
The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and stedfast eye she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face,
Which she had fondly loved so long:
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung:
And severed was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly closed:
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head reposed:
And ravished was that constant heart,
She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could his king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.
Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see;
But when 'twas mouldered into dust,
"Now, now," she cried, "I'll follow thee.
"My death, my death alone can show
The pure and lasting love I bore:
Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more."
The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name expired.
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