« ПредишнаНапред »
'Twas here a tender mother strove
To keep my happiness in view; I smild beneath a parent's love,
Who soft compassion ever knew;' In whom the virtues all combin'd,
On whom I could with faith rely; To whom my heart and soul were join'd
By mild affection's primal tie: Who smiles in heav'n, exempt from care,
Whilft I remember--fuch things were. 'Twas here, (where calm and tranquil rest
O’erpays the peasant for his toil,) That first, in blessing, I was blest With growing friendship’s open
smile. My friend, far diftant, doom'd to roam,
Now braves the fury of the seas ; He fled his peaceful, happy home,
His little fortune to increase : Whilft bleeds afresh the wound of care, When I remember-such things were. 'Twas here—ev'n in this blooming grove,
I fondly gaz’d on Laura's charms, Who blushing own’d a mutual love,
And melted in my youthful arms.
Yet fate, the cruel tyrant, bore
The lovely maid I did adore.
Of guileless pleasure's shining day;
Here mark’d the soft declining rayBeheld the skies, whose streaming light
Gave splendour to the parting sun;
And all their mingled glories gone !
CHILDREN GATHERING FLOWERS.
BY T. SMART.
OVELY Innocents! what pleasures
Meet you in this happy hour! Richer far than monarchs' treasures
Seems each vari’gated flow'r. Oh! that joys supreme may ever
In each bosom find abode ! And no villain's base endeavour
Lead your steps to sorrow's road! Should some monster, iron-hearted,
From their home you parents tear; Heedless of each wound that smarted,
Wounds which wives and children bear : Doom'd awhile, like mine, to languish,
Rapidly your tears would flow; While the wretch, who caus’d your anguish,
Smiles, insulting, on your woe.
THE RETROSPECT OF LIFE.
, ; Beauty lives a day, and dies ! Honour lulls us while we live,
Mirth's a cheat, and pleasure flies. Is there nothing worth our care?
Time, and chance, and death our foes; If our joys so fleeting are,
Are we only ty'd to woes ?
Her eternal pow'rs prevail
And beauty, mirth, and pleasure fail.
WRITTEN ON THE SEA SHORE:
BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.
N some rude fragment of the rocky shore,
Musing, my folitary feat I take,
The screaming sea-bird quits the troubled sea:
But the wild gloomy scene has charms for me,
foul. Already shipwreck’d by the storms of fate,
Like the poor mariner methinks I stand,
Cast on a rock; who sees the distant land,
and more faint are heard his feeble cries,
ELEGY TO PITY.
When fancy paints the scene of deep distress; Whose tears spontan taneous crystallize the
eye, When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey,
From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare ; Not dew-drops, glitt'ring in the morning ray,
Seem half so beauteous as that falling tear. Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.
To spring the partridge from the güleful foc,
From secret fnares the struggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conqu’ring gleam, Let us, slow wand'ring where the current flows,
Save finking flies that float along the stream.
To me thy sympathetic gifts impart;
And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart.
With timely aid the widow's woes assuage, To mis’ry's moving cries to yield relief,
And be the fure resource of drooping age. So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the close of life's eventful day.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
BY S. T. COLERIDGE.
Death came with friendly care ;
And bade it blossom there.
THE Phice had been wash’d, juft waļh’d in a show?r,
Which Anna ;
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem’d, to a fanciful view, Το weep
for the buds it had left, with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew. I hastily seiz’d it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd; And swinging it rudely—too rudely-alas!
I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground. And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to forrow resign'd.
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhileAnd the tear that is wip’d, with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps with a smile.
The DOG and the WATER-LILY.
BY THE SAME.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on its fide.
And high in pedigree;
That spaniel found for me ;)
Now starting into fight,
With scarce a flower flight.
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wish'd my own.