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OH that those lips had language! Life has passed | |
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. | |
Those lips are thinethy own sweet smile I see, | |
The same that oft in childhood solaced me; | |
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, | 5 |
Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away! | |
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes | |
(Blessed be the art that can immortalize, | |
The art that baffles Times tyrannic claim | |
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. | 10 |
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, | |
O welcome guest, though unexpected here! | |
Who bidst me honour with an artless song, | |
Affectionate, a mother lost so long, | |
I will obey, not willingly alone, | 15 |
But gladly, as the precept were her own: | |
And, while that face renews my filial grief, | |
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, | |
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, | |
A momentary dream that thou art she. | 20 |
My mother! when I learnt that thou wast dead, | |
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? | |
Hovered thy spirit oer thy sorrowing son, | |
Wretch even then, lifes journey just begun? | |
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss: | 25 |
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss | |
Ah, that maternal smile! It answersYes. | |
I heard the bell toll on thy burial day, | |
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, | |
And, turning from my nursery window, drew | 30 |
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! | |
But was it such?It was.Where thou art gone | |
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. | |
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, | |
The parting word shall pass my lips no more! | 35 |
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, | |
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. | |
What ardently I wished I long believed, | |
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. | |
By expectation every day beguiled, | 40 |
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. | |
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, | |
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, | |
I learnt at last submission to my lot; | |
But, though I less deplored thee, neer forgot. | 45 |
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, | |
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; | |
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, | |
Drew me to school along the public way, | |
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped | 50 |
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, | |
Tis now become a history little known, | |
That once we called the pastoral house our own. | |
Short-lived possession! but the record fair | |
That memory keeps, of all thy kindness there, | 55 |
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced | |
A thousand other themes less deeply traced. | |
The nightly visits to my chamber made, | |
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid; | |
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, | 60 |
The biscuit, or confectionary plum; | |
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed | |
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed; | |
All this, and more endearing still than all, | |
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, | 65 |
Neer roughened by those cataracts and brakes | |
That humour interposed too often makes; | |
All this still legible in memorys page, | |
And still to be so to my latest age, | |
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay | 70 |
Such honours to thee as my numbers may; | |
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, | |
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. | |
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, | |
When, playing with thy vestures tissued flowers, | 75 |
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, | |
I pricked them into paper with a pin | |
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, | |
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), | |
Could these few pleasant days again appear, | 80 |
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? | |
I would not trust my heartthe dear delight | |
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. | |
But nowhat here we call our life is such | |
So little to be loved, and thou so much, | 85 |
That I should ill requite thee to constrain | |
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. | |
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albions coast | |
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) | |
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, | 90 |
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; | 95 |
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, | |
Where tempests never beat nor billows roar, | |
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide | |
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. | |
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, | 100 |
Always from port withheld, always distressed | |
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest tost, | |
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost, | |
And day by day some currents thwarting force | |
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. | 105 |
Yet, oh, 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 enthroned and rulers of the earth; | |
But higher far my proud pretensions rise | 110 |
The son of parents passed into the skies! | |
And now, farewell!Time unrevoked has run | |
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. | |
By contemplations help, not sought in vain, | |
I seemed to have lived my childhood oer again; | 115 |
To have renewed 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 | 120 |
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. | |
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