« AnteriorContinuar »
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD.
When, years of pain and peril past,
And like a waning lamp at last
Exhausted nature dies
Friends will lament the severed tie,
To waft the parted soul to heaven.
But when disease untimely sends
The prattler from the parent's knee,
And on the bed of death extends
The child of happiest augury:
Then close the clouds of gloomy night
And love and blasted hopes unite
Such, innocent of heart! wert thou,
Sweet Catherine, such thy early doom, And so thy weeping parents bow
In sad bereavement o'er thy tomb.
Still ring thy accents on the ear,
Still beams thy smile upon the eye:
And retrospection's bitter tear
Flows from the font of memory.
Yet why should floods of sorrow flow
To win the affections here below,
And bear them with thee back to heaven!
Religion tells us we shall meet
In regions of eternal day,
When mortal things are past away.
And still forgotten while they go,
As on the sea-beach wave on wave
Upon the blue and silent sky
The amber clouds one moment lie,
Though beautiful the moon-beams play
We scarce believe it shone !
Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell,
And we wish they ne'er may
They cease! and the soul is a silent cell,
Where music never played.
Dream follows dream through the long night-hours,
Each lovelier than the last
But ere the breath of morning-flowers,
That gorgeous world flies past.
And many a sweet angelic cheek,
Whose smiles of love and kindness speak,
Glides by us on this earth
While in a day we cannot tell
Where shone the face we loved so well,
In sadness or in mirth.
FOR AN ASYLUM FOR THE BLIND AT LIVERPOOL.
Stranger, pause for thee the day,
Spreads the lawn, and rears the bower,
Stranger, pause-with softened mind,
Earth, and seas, and varying skies,
Not for them the bliss to trace,
Not for them, the heart is seen,
Helpless, as they slowly stray,
Yet for them has genius kind,
Reached the soul that felt no day.
Lonely blindness here can meet,
He, who deigned for men to die,
Oped on day the darkened eye;—
Humbly copy-thou canst feel!
Give thine alms-thou canst not heal!
REFLECTIONS ON THE FOURTH OF JUNE.
ཉང *། །
Ah day revered for sixty years
Once day of joy, but now of tears—