Lamented goodness! yet I see [feign. All, all that love can fear, and all that fear can O best of parents! let me pour My sorrows o'er thy silent bed; Of each kind thought, each virtuous deed, These fruitless offerings that embalm the dead? Then, fairy-featured Hope, forbear- With her they fled, at whose lamented shrine [years. Nor hopeful more to soothe her long-declining LANGHORNE*. * Dr. Langhorne's inscription on his mother's monument is inserted among the Epitaphs in this volume. WRITTEN AT AMWELL, IN HERTFORDSHIRE. 1768. Ó FRIEND! though silent thus thy tongue remains, I read inquiry in thy anxious eye, Why my pale cheek the frequent tear distains? Why from my bosom bursts the frequent sigh? Long from these scenes detain'd in distant fields, My mournful tale perchance escaped thy ear: Fresh grief to me the repetition yields; Thy kind attention gives thee right to hear! Foe to the world's pursuit of wealth and fame, Thy Theron early from the world retired, Left to the busy throng each boasted aim, Nor aught, save peace in solitude, desired. A few choice volumes there could oft engage, Foe to the futile manners of the proud, Her hand she gave, and with it gave a heart VOL. IV. G G Swift pass'd the hours; alas, to pass no more! Ere twice the sun perform'd his annual round, O, cease at length, obtrusive Memory! cease, O the dread scene! (in misery how sublime!) O the dread scene!-'Tis agony to tell How o'er the couch of pain declined my head! And took from dying lips the long farewell, The last, last parting ere her spirit fled. Restore her, Heaven! as from the grave retrieve In each calm moment, all things else resign'd, Her looks, her language show how hard to leave The loved companion she must leave behind. 'Restore her, Heaven! for once in mercy spare-' Thus Love's vain prayer in anguish interposed: And soon Suspense gave place to dumb Despair, And o'er the past Death's sable curtain closed In silence closed-My thoughts roved frantic round, No hope, no wish beneath the sun remain'd; Earth, air, and skies one dismal waste I found, One pale, dead, dreary blank with horror stain'd. O lovely flower, too fair for this rude clime! Yet the loved accents fall on Memory's ear. Nor mine alone to bear this painful doom, See Verses written at Sandgate Castle, in memory of a Lady, by the ingenious Dr. Langhorne. My friend's fair hope, like mine, so lately gain'd; His heart, like mine, in its true partner bless'd; Both from one cause the same distress sustain'd, The same sad hours beheld us both distress'd. O human life! how mutable, how vain! How thy wide sorrows circumscribe thy joyA sunny island in a stormy main, A spot of azure in a cloudy sky! All gracious Heaven! since man, infatuate man, SCOTT. A FATHER'S EXTEMPORE CONSOLATION ON THE DEATH OF TWO DAUGHTERS, WHO LET vulgar souls endure the body's chain, Dear precious babes!-alas! when, fondly wild, A mother's heart hung melting o'er her child, |