Thro' rocky channels roar amain,
Or, leading smooth their deepen'd train,
The Scene's soft mirror shine.
When blow around each craggy height
The bitter winds of Winter night,
Or snows incessant fall,
My fair ELIZA, blest with thee,
Nor winds I hear, nor snows I sce,
For Love compensates all.
What sacred joy with thee to share
Each lively hope, each anxious care
That Parents' hearts possess ;
Behold our Infants' rising charms,
Whose asking eyes, whose twining arms
Invite our fond caress!
Ye tender Charities, which bind
In rosy chains the feeling Mind,
And Soul to Soul unite,
When married Love's benignant sway
Shall energize each cheerful day
And bless the quiet night.
Yours is the fair reverse of crimes
Which stain the more luxuriant Climes,
When lawless Passions flame;
Our hearts, my dear ELIZA, melt
In joys, that leave no sting of guilt,
No sullying hue of shame.
When droop and fade the short-liv'd flowers
That Cupid twines in Orange bowers
With Aconite's fell sprays,
Our Hymeneal wreath shall glow,
Unwither'd still by any woe
That clouds terrestrial days.
Grief comes to all, by HIGH BEHEST,
No Eden blooms for transient Guest,
But wide the Portals stand,
Thro' which the pure of heart and life
Shall gain, when past this mortal strife,
The promis'd, blissful Land.
Choice of my heart, so may we live
As palms of Mercy to receive,
Our Souls redeem'd, and free,
Then prayer shall be absorb'd in praise,
Our finite in eternal days,
Our HOPE in CERTAINTY!
BYAM, JAN. 10, 1746.
On MRS. SEWARD's Illness after the Death of her Child.
CRUEL DISEASE, why do thy ghastly Bands
War unprovok'd with gentle Temperance wage?
And cannot Beauty's fair, uplifted hands,
Nor lifeless Innocence thy wrath assuage?
And must thy darts that lovely breast annoy
By Nature form'd for love, alacrity, and joy?
Go, dire DISEASE, and fire the Drunkard's brain,
Or with hot viands gorge the Glutton's throat!
These are the destin'd victims of thy reign,
To thee, and VICE, thy Sister Power, devote;
Who to each sense impure their beings sell,
Forming a league with Death, a covenant with Hell.
Or go, Disease, the Miser's sinews screw
With spasm convulsive, and corroding smart,
Who ne'er for others' sufferings pity knew,
Nor dar'd a mite e'en to himself impart ;
The worthless Soul from his starv'd Carcase wring, And his imprison'd hoards in circling bounty fling! Or let the fiercest of your horrid Crew
Seize the vile Letcher in his midnight haunt,
Or dark Adultress, whose deceiving hue
Of spotless chastity makes outward vaunt!
Blast her proud beauty with contagion foul,
And be her face and fame as leperous as her soul!
My own ELIZA ne'er in wish or thought
Lax'd the strong texture of her marriage vow;
With truth and tenderness her soul is fraught,
And Innocence sits smiling on her brow;
She ne'er, when want implor'd, withheld relief,
Her pity-dropping eye still melts o'er others' grief.
Is it a crime that Nature's softest make
Shou'd shrink beneath stern Deprivation's blow?
That nerves too delicately strung shou'd quake
With thrilling dread and agonizing woe?
That rapt in heart-struck misery she stood,
And o'er her dying Babe fast pour'd the scalding flood?
O, killing stroke! in my sweet Infant's face
A perfect model of her Mother grew;
Nature ne'er gave a Child more winning grace,
Nor Raphael, Nature's Rival, ever drew.
Go, lovely Babe, to Heaven's bright Regions haste,
For there, and only there, thy beauties are surpass'd!
And O! if GOD hath this affiction sent
lov'd Consort for her Husband's sin,
In dust and ashes let my Soul repent,
And may the Poor's intreaties mercy win!
Th' uplifted dart may Charity arrest,
And hold th' impassive shield on dear ELIZA's breast!
I HAD a little comely cot,
As neat as cottage well could be; And near it rose a garden-plot,
Where flourish'd one embowering tree→→
Ah, 'twas a tree of trees to me!
my neat cot it gave a name,
A Filberd was my favourite tree;
Who saw it prais'd it into fame,
And e'en my neighbours, envying me,
Confess'd-it was a goodly tree.
Its graceful branches o'er my head
Wav'd wide an arched canopy;
And its broad leaves benignly spread
A fan of green embroidery,
That shaded all my family.
It was a screen from wind or sun,
A veil from curiosity;
And when its summer bloom was gone,
We still could feast, with social glee,
On its autumnal fruitery,
E'en Winter oft has seen it
With fretted frost-work spangled o'er; While pendants droop❜d from every spray, And crimson budlets told once more That Spring would all its charms restore.
But I have left that comely cot
Where blossoms now my favourite tree:
And I possess an ampler spot,
Which boasts of more variety,
And more enraptures all but me.
For what I once have help'd to rear,
Have treasur'd with a guardian eye,
To my weak heart must still be dear,
To my fond thought will oft be nigh-
Thee, Filberd, still for thee I sigh!
COLD is the heart that does not thrill
At Beauty's kindling glance.
Base is the arm that would not still
In Beauty's cause advance!
Ne'er may his breast with gladness glow,
Whom Beauty cannot fire;
And, by misfortune's sternest blow,
Unwept may he expire!
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