Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past With many a smile my solitude repay, And chace the world's ungenerous scorn away. -235 "And say, when summon'd from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 240 Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, And soothe 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, Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my woe?" 245 So speaks affection, ere the infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply; 250 But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim A mother's ear by that endearing name; Soon as the playful innocent can prove Or cons his murm'ring task beneath her care, Or lisps with holy look his ev'ning prayer, The mournful ballad warbled in his ear; How fondly looks admiring Hope the while, At every artless tear, and every smile! 255. 260 Where is the troubled heart, consign'd to share Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray To count the joys of Fortune's better day! The dim-ey'd tenant of the dungeon gloom, Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 275 Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; She, sad spectatress, on the wint'ry shore Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore, Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze : But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, Ideal peace, that Truth could ne'er bestow; Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream. 281 285 Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, 290 Pil'd on the steep, her blazing faggots burn To hail the bark that never can return; And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep That constant love can linger on the deep. And, mark the wretch, whose wand'rings never knew The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue, 296 Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, But found not pity when it err'd no more. Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye Th' unfeeling proud one looks-and passes by ; 300 |