Say, my Hortensia, in this silent Hour, <br />When the pale Queen of Night exerts her Pow'r, <br />What Guardian--Angels on thy Slumbers wait, <br />To paint the Glories of thy future State; <br />To shew what Mansions, in the Realms divine, <br />Are set apart for Souls, refin'd as thine? <br />Tho' thither, wing'd with Hope, thy Virtues soar, <br />Late, very late, may'st thou those Realms explore! <br /> <br />Adas! I left thee sick: O Shame to tell! <br />I should have staid to see Hortensia well: <br />But dire Necessity, relentless, sway'd; <br />She, stern, enjoin'd, unwilling I obey'd. <br />Torn from thy Sight, how have I dragg'd the Day' <br />Which, in thy Presence, flew too swift away! <br />How shall I pass the melancholy Night? <br />When will the Post arrive, and give Delight? <br />Of thy returning Health when shall I hear? <br />Fain would I hope, tho' quite depress'd with Fear. <br /> <br />O Pow'r supreme! yet, yet, Hortensia spare; <br />The Stranger, and the Wretched, are her Care: <br />Snatch her not hence; we cannot let her go; <br />Still let her be thy Substitute below, <br />To raise the sinking Heart, to heal Distress; <br />To Her was giv'n the Will and Pow'r to bless. <br /> <br />O would Heav'n grant me, ere I cross the Main, <br />To see thy Face, Hortensia, once again! <br />But I must hasten to Hibernia's Shore; <br />And never, never, shall behold thee more.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-letter-written-from-london-to-mrs-strangeways-hornet/
