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There each fair hope, each tenderness of life,
O come, ye softer sorrows, to my breast !
* See Spectator, No. 164.
SUNG BY A REDBREAST.
Tre gentle pair that in these lonely shades, Wandering, at eve or morn, I oft bave seen, Now, all in vain, I seek at eve or morn, With drooping wing, forlorn. Along the grove, along the daisied green, For them I've warbled many a summer's day, Till the light dews impearled all the plain, And the glad shepherd shut his nightly fold; Stories of love, and high adventures old, Were the dear subjects of my tuneful strain. Ah! where is now the hope of all my lays? Now they, perchance, that heard them all are dead! With them the meed of melody is fled, And fled with them the listening ear of praise. Vainly I dreamt, that when the wintry sky Scatter'd the white flood on the wasted plain, When not one herry, not one leaf was nigh, To sooth keen hunger's pain, Vainly I dreamt my songs might not be vain : That oft within the hospitable hall Some scatter'd fragment haply I might find, Some friendly crumb perchance for me design'd, When seen despairing on the neighbouring wall. Deluded bird, those hopes are now no more! Dull time has blasted the departing year, And winter frowns severe, Wrapping his wan limbs in his mantle hoar. VOL. XXX.
Yet not within the hospitable hall
ON HIS MOTHER.
Au, scenes belov’d! ah, conscious shades,
That wave these parent-vales along !
Teach your wild echoes to complain
For her I mourn,
For her bewail these strains of woe,
For her these filial sorrows flow, Source of my life, that led my tender years,
With all a parent's pious fears, [to grow. That nurs'd my infant thought, and taught my mind
Careful, she mark'd each dangerous way,
Where Youth's unwary footsteps stray: She taught the struggling passions to subside ;
Where sacred truth, and reason guide, In virtue's glorious path to seek the realms of day.
Lamented goodness! yet I see
She bends its tearful orb on me,
And heaves the tender sigh :
As thoughtful, she the toils surveys,
And for her children feels again
O best of parents ! let me pour My sorrows o'er thy silent bed ;
There early strew the vernal flower, The parting tear at evening shed
Alas! are these the only meed
Of each kind thought, each virtuous deed, These fruitless offerings that embalm the dead !
Then, fairy-featar'd Hope, forbear
No more thy fond illusions 'spread;
Thy visionary prospects fled;
Love, gratitude, and duty mingled tears,