fate oft tears the bosom chords

that nature finest strung;

so isabe's heart was form'd,

and so that heart was wrung.

dread omnipotence alone

can heal the wound he gave—

can point the brimful grief-worn eyes

to scenes beyond the grave.

virtue's blossoms there shall blow,

and fear no withering st;

there isabe's spotless worth

shall happy be atst.