LINES TO MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd, and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore,
"Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar ;"
And thy lov'd consort, on the dangerous tide
Of life, long since has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd,-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd,
Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise,-
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell!-Time unrevok'd has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine
Without the sin of violating thine;
And while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself remov'd, thy pow'r to soothe me left.
"WELL may'st thou bend o'er this congenial sphere; For Sensibility is Sovereign here.
Thou seest her train of sprightly damsels sport,
Where the soft spirit holds her rural court;
But fix thine eye attentive to the plain,
And mark the varying wonders of her reign."
As thus she spoke, she pois'd her airy seat
High o'er a plain exhaling every sweet;
For round its precincts all the flowers that bloom
Fill'd the delicious air with rich perfume;
And in the midst a verdant throne appear'd,
In simplest form by graceful fancy rear'd,
And deck'd with flowers; not such whose flaunting dyes
Strike with the strongest tint our dazzl'd eyes;
But those wild herbs that tend'rest fibres bear,
And shun th' approaches of a damper air.
Here stood the lovely ruler of the scene,
And beauty, more than pomp, announc'd The Queen.
The bending snowdrop and the briar-rose,
The simple circle of her crown compose;
Roses of every hue her robe adorn,
Except th' insipid rose without a thorn.
Of that enchanting age her figure seems,
When smiling nature with the vital beams
Of vivid youth, and Pleasure's purple flame,
Gilds her accomplish'd work, the female frame,
With rich luxuriance tender, sweetly wild,
And just between the woman and the child.
Her fair left arm around a vase she flings,
From which the tender plant mimosa springs;
Towards its leaves, o'er which she fondly bends,
The youthful fair her vacant hand extends
With gentle motion, anxious to survey
How far the feeling fibres own her sway;
The leaves, as conscious of their Queen's command,
Successive fall at her approaching hand;
While her soft breast with pity seems to pant,
And shrinks at every shrinking of the plant.
Around their sovereign, on the verdant ground,
Sweet airy forms in mystic measures bound.
Unnumber'd damsels different charms display,
Pensive with bliss, or in their pleasures gay.
But, the bright triumphs of their joy to check,
In the clear air there hangs a dusky speck;
It swells-it spreads-and rapid, as it grows,
O'er the gay scene a chilling shadow throws.
The soft Serena, who beheld its flight,
Suspects no evil from a cloud so light;
But, ah! too soon, with pity's tender pain,
She saw its dire effect o'er all the plain :
Sudden from thence the sounds of anguish flow,
And joy's sweet carols end in shrieks of woe.
Here gloomy Terror, with a shadowy rope,
Seems, like a Turkish mute, to strangle Hope.
But pangs more cruel, more intensely keen,
Wound and distract their sympathetic Queen.
With fruitless tears she o'er their misery bends;
From her sweet brow the thorny rose she rends,
And, bow'd by grief's insufferable weight,
Frantic she curses her immortal state:
The soft Serena, as this curse she hears,
Feels her bright eye suffus'd with kindred tears.
The guardian POWER survey'd her lovely grief,
And spoke in gentle terms of mild relief:
"For this soft tribe they heaviest fear dismiss,
And know their pains are transient as their bliss:
Rapture and agony, in Nature's loom,
Have form'd the changing tissue of their doom;
Both interwoven with so nice an art,
No power can tear the twisted threads apart;
Yet happier these, to Nature's heart more dear,
Than the dull offspring in the torpid sphere,
Where her warm wishes, and affections kind,
Lose their bright current in the stagnant mind.
Here grief and joy so suddenly unite,
That anguish serves to sublimate delight."
She spoke; and, ere Serena could reply,
The vapour vanish'd from the lucid sky,
The nymphs revive, the shadowy fiends are fled,
The new-born flowers a richer fragrance shed,-
While on the lovely Queen's enchanting face,
Departed sorrow's faint and fainter trace
Gave to each touching charm a more attractive grace.
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