Bound to the heart by various tender ties,
The source and centre of his earthly joys;
Bound by affliction: Oh! mysterious heaven,
Why was this pledge of fond affection given!
If death so soon must strike the fatal blow:
Oh! grief of griefs! Oh! woe surpassing woe!—
'Tis past-our hopes and fears are at an end:
The daughter of my fair departed friend,
The sweetest babe-Oh! what resistless grace
Shone in her eyes, and blossom'd in her face!
She look'd, as born to sooth the brow of care,
To stop the sigh, and kiss away the tear;
The anguish of a father to assuage,
And be a comfort to her grand-dam's age:
But now, alas! the pleasing prospect ends!
Yet heaven perhaps a greater good intends.
May-hap, this blow-this heart-felt blow, is given,
To wean from earth and fit the soul for heaven.
COMPOSED BY THE AUTHORESS ON PASSING
BY THE PLACE OF HER NATIVITY.
YE antient shades, whose cool retreats,
Have screen'd me from the mid-day heats;
Where I've enjoy'd the balmy breeze,
And mark'd the growth of rising trees;
(Co-eval plants with me they grew)
Adieu, ye early friends, adieu!
Ye flowery meads, and sunny
The broader stream and lesser rills,
Whose banks my footsteps oft have press'd,
While the sweet muse inspir'd my breast,—
Farewell to every native sweet!
Each pleasant walk, and mossy seat!
But memory still shall hold you dear;
And fancy fondly wander here..
Here rural groups were often seen
In social parties trip the green;
Or seek the fountain's grassy side,
To view its silver current glide;
There the fond lover told his tale,
Mixing with sighs the passing gale;
While, in her breast, the tender maid
Records his looks and all he said.
Yon meadow cloath'd in vernal bloom,
That scents the air with sweet perfume,
Brings to my mind the sultry day;
The rake, the hay-fork, and the hay.
When wearied I have ta'en my ease,
Reclin❜d beneath yon spreading trees;
Or sought a shelter from the rain,
Then rose, and ply'd my work again.
In yonder hedge obscur'd from view,
The luscious berry wildly grew;
Mix'd with sweet flowers, that deck'd the waste;
Regaling both the sight and taste.
Ah! happy scenes of early days,
Of infant smiles, and childish plays!
My father's house, my mother's lands-
Those fields were cultur'd by his hands;
That house his presence once adorn'd;
And there his heavy loss I mourn'd.
There the young muses spread their wings,
And soar'd above terrestrial things;
'Twas there they made their first essays,
To warble the Creator's praise;
And strove, but oh, how vainly strove !
To paint the wonders of his love;
The name of Jesus to rehearse,
That sweetest sound, in prose or verse.
TO JUNIUS, WITH YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.
THRICE have I read this precious volume o'er,
Still gathering wisdom from the heavenly lore.
The best instruction's in these pages given;
They lead the soul to piety and heaven.
Delightful book! with every beauty fraught!
Justness of judgment, energy of thought,
Breathe through each line, with such devotion
fir'd,
As speaks a muse by heaven itself inspir'd.
Here sorrow is so movingly express'd,
Pity and admiration fill the breast:
We love a woe so tender and refin'd,
Which thus exalts, and purifies the mind.
But while the muses mournfully complain,
And all the soul is sunk in tender pain,
The CONSOLATION beams a ray divine;
The clouds disperse and heavenly beauties shine;
The soul is wrapt in wonder and delight;
We grow enamour'd with the face of night;
We trace the glowing poet through the skies,
And strive to catch his spirit as he flies.
ANOTHER TO THE SAME.
OFT times I leave the busy throng,
Some hours with thee to spend ;.
And fanci'd converse oft prolong,
With a far distant friend.
No common words employ my breath,
When I converse with thee;
We talk of time, of life, and death,
And immortality.
My soul, your active soul to trace,
Could leave this frame behind;
And wander to a distant place,
To seek a kindred mind.
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