Near to that little mound of earth, And none would seek my narrow bed. I think of eve's long wish'd-for hours, 'Midst poverty content was giv'n, And all that wealth or wisdom boast, Are nought without this boon of Heav'n Still could I find a haven of rest On her pure bosom, fondly lov'd; And all hope's wanton dreams of bliss, Were, with a smile, by her approv'd: Her lessons led to virtue's path; Her num'rous sorrows were made mine; And ever present is her look, When now I welcome life's decline. Long ere ten times I'd seen blythe spring Spread o'er the earth her fostʼring dews, Cold were the lips I weeping kiss'd, And I was told heart-rending news. Whate'er my fate, whate'er my care, While in this frame life's pulse shall beat, All worldly ills I'll patient bear, Vol. II. INSCRIPTION WRITTEN AT CORBY CASTLE, THE ROMANTIC SEAT OF HENRY HOWARD, ESQ. "Let others praise the LEASOWE's plains, READER, if rocks, woods, waters, lawns, and meads, If warbling hymns in the Creator's praise, Thy mind can charm; thrice welcome to these shades, Or Eden murmʼring o'er his rocky bed: If e'er the lofty pine attract thine eye, "Twill lead thy thoughts to Heav'n. In musing mood, The wide-stretched mountain, the proud oak-crown'd rock, The wood of many hues, the far-heard stream, Each speaks in silent eloquence of God. Perchance, in quest of rural nook thou stray'st, A stranger to these much-lov'd scenes; then know, The virtuous owners of this blest abode, By justice, charity, and boundless love, Endearing man to man, examples great, Give lustre never-fading to the spot. If in thy bosom beats a patriot's heart, Indignant at the threats and murd'rous deeds Of him, thy happy country's high-swol'n foe; Lo! HOWARD hails thee, welcome to his seat. But should cold apathy enslave thy mind, |