The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue, With transports, such as favour'd lovers feel, I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd; For a lost world in solitude and verse. Infus'd at the creation of the kind. And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout And touches of his hand, with so much art Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all, That all discern a beauty in his works, And all can taste them: minds, that have been form'd And tutor'd, with a relish more exact, But none without some relish, none unmov'd. It is a flame, that dies not even there, Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds, Whatever else they smother of true worth Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air; The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms, The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, * Mignonnette. Some must be great. Great offices will have He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, a heart To me, an unambitious mind, content A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. On the receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk, the gift of my cousin Ann Bodham. That those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see, The same, that oft in childhood solac'd me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!" The meek intelligence of those dear eyes (Blest be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim To quench it) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, O welcome guest, though unexpected here! Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song, Affectionate, a mother lost so long. I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own: A momentary dream, that thou art she. } My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorr'wing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blissAh that maternal smile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew 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! Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd, And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd. By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd, 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 learn'd at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, "Tis now become a hist'ry little known, That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Shortliv'd possession! but the record fair, That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid; |