TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND, WHO DIED IN ST. VINCENT'S ISLAND, 3d JULY, 1801.
WHEN late my Muse to thee, O dear departed!
Breath'd but a transient, though a sad adieu *,
Whilst Memory to her view past joys imparted,
And Fancy almost hail'd the vision true;—
Ah little deem'd she, that so soon the morrow
Would blast thy hopes, whilst yet they loveliest
shone,
So soon her lyre would pour its deeper sorrow,
Its votive dirge to thee for ever gone!
E'en when that truth awhile would claim intrusion, How few Contagion's livid touch can flee, Affection whisper'd still the sweet delusion, Amongst the rescued few to number thee.
Vain her attempt to paint, with plea beguiling,
Her Albion's clime with Nature's boons thrice blest-
Ah me! methinks e'en now I see thee smiling
At each fond fear, that Friendship dared suggest!
* See Poetical Register, Vol. I. page 312.
Where now thy hardy manhood's welcome season
Where Genius' toils in its self-taught career?
Thy airy projects, e'er disown'd of reason?
And all thy fancy's bold aspirings—where?
Ah not e'en Temperance' self a charm could render
Potent enough thy youthful frame to save;
Thy joys, thy pains, thy hopes, thy fears so tender,
With thee are buried all in Friendship's grave!
Perchance, when pain first bade thy feelings languish, The thought of kindred ties, to thee as dead, Imparted all the bitterness of anguish
To the last sigh, that told thy spirit fled!
Condolence oft, her woes in secret telling,
For thee shall saddest vigils duteous keep,
And oft Remembrance, on thine image dwelling,
Shall note the day, which gave her thus to weep.
HOPE, heaven-born Cherub still appears,
Howe'er misfortune seems to lower:
Her smile the threat'ning tempest clears,
And is the Rainbow of the Shower!
FROM A FATHER TO HIS SONS.
DESPISING themes, that catch the public eye,
The daily slanders, that are born to die,
The selfish plaudits, that are bought, and sold,
And speak the boundless worth, of pow'r and gold,
The Muse expatiates o'er the mental plain;
And seeks a subject for the free-born strain.
First at my heart, for ever in my eyes,
The sweet ideas of my children rise.
Far nobler theme my Boy's content and health,
Than titled meanness, and exuberant wealth.
In childhood blameless, in th' unsullied mind,
I boast, for once, a faultless theme to find.
How long, my children, shall that boast be giv'n?
-Ye bear no traces, now, but marks of heav'n :
Fair as Creation, dawning from its God-
Ere Death and Sin the walks of Eden trod ;
Fair as the forms, that, in the hour of song,
In beauteous order, on the poet throng.
What things unhallow'd an abode may find,
Within the Paradise of spotless mind!
How soon, perhaps, the raging mental storm,
May print the features, and the soul deform!
Avarice, and Pride, may, then, with cruel art,
Bid the false head belie the honest heart;
And many a fiend, the foe of good and fair,
May sting the conscious heart with guilt and care.
While yet the prospect is so fair and bright,
Let me enjoy the vision of delight.
Here, boundless flattery no contempt shall move;
Ev'n partial blindness shall a virtue prove.
Yet, tho' the present with such charms is fraught,
It cannot chace the future from my thought.
No-the fond Muse anticipates the time!
With throbbing heart my Sons shall read this rhyme:
When clos'd that eye, where fondness now o'erflows,
And cold the bosom where your welfare glows;
When of your Father verse alone remains,
If time, perchance, should spare some favourite strains;
If you, my Sons, from noise and festive sport,
Should steal an hour, and to my tomb resort;
As o'er my dust, fraternal, hand in hand,
With heads inclin'd, in pensive mood, you stand;
My children, then, may heave a sigh, and say,
"The frame, that here return'd to parent clay,
"Once held a heart, with fond unwearied zeal,
"Warm for our fame, and anxious for our weal.
"If parted shades the frame to dust consign'd,
"Retain a care of friends they leave behind;
"Our Father's spirit with enquiring eyes,
"To mark our conduct, round his children flies." 50
-At least, believe it; think him ever near;
His warning voice in hours of trial hear.
Think how he lov'd you; nor his quiet wound,
With deed unworthy, or ungentle sound.
Thus, may my cares beyond the grave extend,
In life, the Father, and in death, the Friend.
Attend, my Children, while your years demand,
The kind controul, and the sustaining hand.
'Tis now, that time has blanch'd your Father's hair,
He sees the value of a parent's care;
That care despis'd, or hated in the hour
Of dangerous Novelty's seductive power.
When fairy visions all the soul employ,
And youthful senses chace th' ideal joy;
Then harsh and importune our warnings fall,
Less heard, and less the grave parental call.
Yet you, I trust, may pace the downward stage,
Where mellow'd manhood ripens into age;
Then, sober Reason shall assume the throne,
And wake and watch, for children of your own.
If any worth my
wakeful cares may claim ;-
If Heav'n shall prosper the parental aim;
In fair Example, or imparted Truth,
ye shall feel the Father of your youth;
Indulgent Heav'n has to my Sons supply'd,
The mighty blessing, to their Sire denied.
Whate'er I am, my mind spontaneous grew;
No Father's forming care my childhood knew.
Forbear, my thankless, and irrev'rent tongue-
Forget the Father-be the Mother sung-
Disease and suff'rings mark'd my tender age,
A Mother's cares assuag'd their cruel rage.
How many nights she watch'd around my bed!
How many tears maternal fondness shed!
When Nature falter'd, 'twixt my life and death,
Her pious prayers redeem'd my forfeit breath!
If life is good, 'twas her's that life to save;
If ill, the means of bearing ill she gave,
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