Oft o'er the daisy-sprinkled mead,
They wander'd far away,
Some lambkin to the fold to lead,
That haply chanc'd to stray.
Her heart, where pity lov'd to dwell,
With sadness oft was wrung;
For the bruis'd insect, as it fell,
Her soft tear trembling hung.
As roving o'er the flow'ry waste,
A sigh would heave her breast,
The while her gentle hand replac'd
The linnet's falling nest.
Then would she seek the vernal bow'r,
And haste with tender care
To nurse some pale declining flow'r,
Some op'ning blossom rear.
And oft with eager steps she flies
To cheer the lonely cot,
Where the poor widow pours
And wails her hapless lot.
Their weeping mother's trembling knees
Her lisping infants clasp ;
Their meek imploring look she sees,
She feels their tender grasp.
Wild throbs her aching bosom swell,
They mark the bursting sigh-
(Nature has form'd the soul to feel)
They weep unknowing why...
Her bands the lib'ral boon impart,
And much her tear avails
To soothe the mourner's bursting heart,
Where feeble utt'rance fails.
On the pale cheek where hung the tear
Of agonizing woe,
She bids the gush of joy rise there,
The tear of rapture flow.
If greater plenty to impart,
She e'er would Heav'n implore, 'Twas only that her ample heart Still panted to do more.
Thus oft the gliding moments flew,
(Though love would court their stay,) While some new virtue rose to view, And mark'd each fleeting day.
Peace, long condemn'd the world to roam, Like the poor wand'ring dove,
Here softly-resting found a home,
And wish'd no more to rove,
The youthful poet's soothing dream
Of youthful ages past,
The Muses' fond ideal theme
Was realiz'd at last.
UNTIMELY gone! for ever fled
The roses of the cheek so red,
Th' affection warm, the temper mild,
The sweetness that in sorrow smil'd.
Alas! the cheek where beauty glow'd, The heart where goodness overflow'd, A clod amid the valley lies,
And, "dust to dust," the mourner cries.
O from thy kindred early torn,
And to thy grave untimely borne!
Vanish'd for ever from my view,
Thou sister of my soul, adieu.
Fair with my first ideas twin'd,
Thine image oft will meet my mind;
And while remembrance brings thee near,
Affection sad will drop a tear.
How oft does sorrow bend the head,
Before we dwell among the dead;
Scarce in the years of manly prime,
I've often wept the wrecks of time.
What tragic tears bedew the eye,
What deaths we suffer ere we die;
Our broken friendships we deplore,
And loves of youth that are no more.
No after-friendship e'er can raise
Th' endearments of our early days:
And ne'er the heart such fondness prove,
As when it first began to love.
Affection dies, a vernal flow'r;
And love the blossom of an hour;
The spring of fancy cares control,
And mar the beauty of the soul.
Vers'd in the commerce of deceit,
How soon the heart forgets to beat;
The blood runs cold at int'rest's call,
They look with equal eyes on all.
Ye gods! whatever ye withhold,
Let my affection ne'er grow old;
Ne'er may the human glow depart,
Nor nature yield to frigid art!
Still may thy generous bosom burn,
Though doom'd to bleed o'er beauty's urn;
And still the friendly face appear,
Though moisten'd with a tender tear.
IN life's fair morn, I knew an aged seer,
Who sad and lonely pass'd his joyless year;
Betray'd, heart-broken, from the world he ran,
And shunn'd, ch dire extreme! the face of man;
Humbly he rear'd his hut within the wood,
Hermit his vest, a hermit's was his food.
Nitch'd in some corner of the gelid cave,
Where chilling drops the rugged rockstone lave;
Hour after hour, the melancholy sage,
Drop after drop to reckon would engage
The ling'ring day, and trickling as they fell,
A tear went with them to the narrow well;
|