Tell, that while Love's fpontaneous fmile endears The days of peace, the fabbath of his years, Lo! at the couch where infant beauty fleeps, Her filent watch the mournful mother keeps ; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her flumb'ring child with pensive eyes, And weaves a fong of melancholy joy 225. "Sleep, image of thy father, fleep, my boy : No ling'ring hour of forrow shall be thine ; No figh that rends thy father's heart and mine; In form and foul; but, ah! more bleft than he ! 230 Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at laft, Shall foothe this aching heart for all the paft With many a fmile my folitude repay, And chafe the world's ungenerous fcorn away. 235 "And say, when fummon'd from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree; Wilt thou, fweet mourner! at my stone appear, 240 And foothe my parted spirit ling'ring near? Oh, wilt thou come, at ev'ning hour, to shed The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed; With aching temples on thy hand reclin❜d, Mufe on the laft farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep figh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my woe?" 245 So fpeaks affection, ere the infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply; 250 Or lifps with holy look his ev'ning prayer, Or gazing, mutely penfive, fits to hear The mournful ballad warbled in his ear; How fondly looks admiring Hope the while, At every artless tear, and every fmile! A guilelefs bofom, true to sympathy ! 260 Where is the troubled heart, confign'd to share Tumultuous toils, or folitary care, Unbleft by vifionary thoughts that stray To count the joys of Fortune's better day! The dim-ey'd tenant of the dungeon gloom, 265 270 Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow, And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe. Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor deftroy The fhadowy forms of uncreated joy, That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 275 Spontaneous flumber on his midnight hour. Hark! the wild maniac fings, to chide the gale That wafts fo flow her lover's diftant fail ; She, fad fpectatrefs, on the wint'ry fhore Watch'd the rude furge his fhroudless corse that bore, Knew the pale form, and, fhrieking in amaze, 281 Clafp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze: Poor widow'd wretch! 'twas there fhe wept in vain, Till memory fled her agonizing brain ;— But Mercy gave, to charm the fenfe of woe, peace, that Truth could ne'er beftow ;— Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, And the lone fea-bird wakes its wildest cry, 285 290 |