Lamented goodness! yet I see
The fond affections melting in her eye:
She bends its tearful orb on me,
And heaves the tender sigh:
As thoughtful, she the toils surveys,
That crowd in life's perplexing maze,
And for her children feels again

[feign.

All, all that love can fear, and all that fear can

O best of parents! let me pour

My sorrows o'er thy silent bed;
There early strew the vernal flower,
The parting tear at evening shed-
Alas! are these the only meed

Of each kind thought, each virtuous deed, These fruitless offerings that embalm the dead?

Then, fairy-featured Hope, forbear-
No more thy fond illusions spread:
Thy shadowy scenes dissolved in air,
Thy visionary prospects fled;

With her they fled, at whose lamented shrine
Love, gratitude, and duty mingled tears,
Condemn'd each filial office to resign,

[years. Nor hopeful more to soothe her long-declining LANGHORNE*.

* Dr. Langhorne's inscription on his mother's monument is

inserted among the Epitaphs in this volume.

WRITTEN AT AMWELL,

IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

1768.

Ó FRIEND! though silent thus thy tongue remains, I read inquiry in thy anxious eye,

Why my pale cheek the frequent tear distains?

Why from my bosom bursts the frequent sigh?

Long from these scenes detain'd in distant fields, My mournful tale perchance escaped thy ear: Fresh grief to me the repetition yields;

Thy kind attention gives thee right to hear!

Foe to the world's pursuit of wealth and fame, Thy Theron early from the world retired, Left to the busy throng each boasted aim,

Nor aught, save peace in solitude, desired.

A few choice volumes there could oft engage,
A few choice friends there oft amused the day;
There his loved parents' slow-declining age,
Life's calm unvaried evening, wore away.

Foe to the futile manners of the proud,
He chose an humble virgin for his own;
A form with Nature's fairest gifts endow'd,
And pure as vernal blossoms newly blown:

Her hand she gave, and with it gave a heart
By love engaged, with gratitude impress'd,
Free without folly, prudent without art,
With wit accomplish'd, and with virtue bless'd.

VOL. IV.

G G

Swift pass'd the hours; alas, to pass no more!
Flown like the light clouds of a summer's day!
One beauteous pledge the beauteous consort bore;
The fatal gift forbad the giver's stay.

Ere twice the sun perform'd his annual round,
In one sad spot, where kindred ashes lie,
O'er wife and child and parents closed the ground;
The final home of man ordain'd to die!

O, cease at length, obtrusive Memory! cease,
Nor in my view the wretched hours retain,
That saw Disease on her dear life increase,
And Medicine's lenient arts essay'd in vain.

O the dread scene! (in misery how sublime!)
Of Love's vain prayers to stay her fleeting breath!
Suspense, that restless watch'd the flight of Time,
And helpless dumb Despair, awaiting Death!

O the dread scene!-'Tis agony to tell

How o'er the couch of pain declined my head! And took from dying lips the long farewell,

The last, last parting ere her spirit fled.

Restore her, Heaven! as from the grave retrieve

In each calm moment, all things else resign'd, Her looks, her language show how hard to leave The loved companion she must leave behind.

'Restore her, Heaven! for once in mercy spare-'

Thus Love's vain prayer in anguish interposed: And soon Suspense gave place to dumb Despair, And o'er the past Death's sable curtain closed

In silence closed-My thoughts roved frantic

round,

No hope, no wish beneath the sun remain'd; Earth, air, and skies one dismal waste I found, One pale, dead, dreary blank with horror stain'd.

O lovely flower, too fair for this rude clime!
O lovely morn, too prodigal of light!
O transient beauties, blasted in their prime!
O transient glories, sunk in sudden night!
Sweet Excellence, by all who knew thee mourn'd!
Where is that form, that mind my soul admired?
That form, with every pleasing charm adorn'd;
That mind, with every gentle thought inspired!
The face, with rapture view'd, I view no more;
The voice, with rapture heard, no more I hear;
Yet the loved features Memory's eyes explore;

Yet the loved accents fall on Memory's ear.
Ah sad, sad change! (sad source of daily pain)
That sense of loss ineffable renews;
While my rack'd bosom heaves the sigh in vain,
While my pale cheek the tear in vain bedews.
Still o'er the grave that holds the dear remains,
The mouldering veil her spirit left below,
Fond Fancy dwells, and pours funereal strains,
The soul-dissolving melody of woe.

Nor mine alone to bear this painful doom,
Nor she alone the tear of song obtains;
The Muse of Blagdon *, o'er Constantia's tomb,
In all the eloquence of grief complains.

See Verses written at Sandgate Castle, in memory of a Lady, by the ingenious Dr. Langhorne.

My friend's fair hope, like mine, so lately gain'd; His heart, like mine, in its true partner bless'd; Both from one cause the same distress sustain'd, The same sad hours beheld us both distress'd. O human life! how mutable, how vain!

How thy wide sorrows circumscribe thy joyA sunny island in a stormy main,

A spot of azure in a cloudy sky!

All gracious Heaven! since man, infatuate man,
Rests in thy works, too negligent of thee;
Lays for himself on earth his little plan,
Dreads not or distant views mortality;
'Tis but to wake to nobler thought the soul,
To rouse us lingering on earth's flowery plain,
To Virtue's path our wanderings to control,
Affliction frowning comes, thy minister of pain!

SCOTT.

A

FATHER'S EXTEMPORE CONSOLATION

ON THE DEATH OF TWO DAUGHTERS, WHO
LIVED ONLY TWO DAYS.

LET vulgar souls endure the body's chain,
Till life's dull current ebbs in every vein,
Dream out a tedious age ere, wide display'd,
Death's blackest pinion wraps them in the shade:
These happy infants, early taught to shun
All that the world admires beneath the sun,
Scorn'd the weak bands mortality could tie,
And fled impatient to their native sky.

Dear precious babes!-alas! when, fondly wild, A mother's heart hung melting o'er her child,