Yes, Sounds like these must warm the coldest heart,
Suspend the Tears of Anguish as they flow,
With pleasure paint the pallid Cheek of woe,
And force ev’n Pain to drop his blunted dart!
Ah, let not then the Rapture these impart
Be check’d by Diffidence: – her Clouds o’ershade
The Sun of Genius; – but it shall pervade
Her modest veil, and but more lovely seem,
Its soften’d Lustre more benignly bright!
Oh! could it cheer the more than mortal gloom
Which Sorrow spreads – that deeper, darker night
Which wraps each Object that could once delight
The Mourners Soul, and with a sacred Beam
Deriv’d from Heaven, shed Glory o’er the Tomb.
Text: MS, Steele Collection, Angus Library, Regent’s Park College, Oxford, STE 5/3; STE 5/1; also Whelan, Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 3, p. 144. Whether Coltman’s poem appeared in print or was merely shared in manuscript with Steele and their coterie of friends is unknown.