On reading in a Newspaper the death of John McLeod, Esq., brother to Miss Isabella McLeod, a particular Friend of the Author’s

“Sad thy tale, thou idle page,
And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love
From Isabella’s arms.
“Sweetly deckt with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow;
But cold successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.
“Fair on Isabella’s morn
The sun propitious srnil’d;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguiled. …”