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.
Though justice ever must prevail,The tear my Kitty sheds is due;
For seldom shall she hear a tale So sad,so tender,and so true.