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She turned her head, and bade the child
That screamed behind be still ;
Then told us that her husband served,
A soldier, far away;
Was begging back her way.
We met a girl, — her dress was loose,
And sunken was her eye,
Addressed the passers-by.
I asked her what there was in guilt
That could her heart allure
She answered she was poor.
I turned me to the Rich Man then,
For silently stood he: “ You asked me why the Poor complain,
And these have answered thee.” LONDON, 1798.
Mary! ten checkered years have passed
The bloom was then upon thy face,
We conversed, were there others by,
Our talk was then of years to come,
At our last meeting, sure thy heart
not to meet again.
Long, Mary, after that adieu,
you: In sleep I saw you still, and long Made
the theme of secret song.
When manhood and its cares came on,
Meantime through many a varied year
But then, I trust, detraction's lie
Ten years have held their course; thus late
And, Mary, as for thee I frame
which hath no selfish aim, No happier lot can I wish thee
Than such as Heaven hath granted me. LONDON, 1802
TO A FRIEND,
INQUIRING IF I WOULD LIVE OVER MY YOUTH AGAIN.
In the warm joyance of the summer sun,
I do not wish again
The uncertain ocean's wrath.
Other I would not be.
Of days that are no more?
The traveller rests at last,
The thought of those far off
o'erflow With no unmanly tears ; Delighted he recalls
[trod; Through what fair scenes his lingering feet have But, ever when he tells of perils past
And troubles now no more,
Flows thankful from his heart.
The morning hours of life;
The slave of hope and fear;
I would not learn again The wisdom by Experience hardly taught.
To me the past presents
All cause for full content.
alive to joy :
THE DEAD FRIEND.
1. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,
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