THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.
(COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS, AND IN ABSENCE.)
IM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove, And give me to the bosom of my Love! My gentle Love! caressing and carest, With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest; Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes, Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs; While finely-flushing float her kisses meek, Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek. Chill'd by the night, the drooping rose of May Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day: Young Day, returning at her promised hour, Weeps o'er the sorrows of the fav'rite flower,— Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs, And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes. New life and joy th' expanding flow'ret feels: His pitying mistress mourns, and mourning heals!
H! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!
I did but snatch away the unclasped knife; Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye, And to quick laughter change this peevish cry! Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe, Tutored by pain each source of pain to know! Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight, And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright! Untaught, yet wise! 'mid all thy brief alarms Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms, Nestling thy little face in that fond breast Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest! Man's breathing Miniature! thou makʼst me sigh— A Babe art thou-and such a Thing am I! To anger rapid, and as soon appeased, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased, Break Friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow!
O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame, Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet As on I totter with unpractised feet,
Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy!
CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD.
THIS day among the faithful placed,
And fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title graced
Dear Anna's dearest Anna!
While others wish thee wise and fair, A maid of spotless fame,
I'll breathe this more compendious prayer— May'st thou deserve thy name!
Thy mother's name-a potent spell, That bids the virtues hie
From mystic grove and living cell Confess'd to fancy's eye;—
Meek quietness without offence; Content in homespun kirtle; True love; and true love's innocence, White blossom of the myrtle!
Associates of thy name, sweet child! These virtues mayst thou win; With face as eloquently mild, To say, they lodge within.
So, when her tale of days all flown,
Thy mother shall be mist here;
When Heaven at length shall claim its own. And angels snatch their sister;
Some hoary-headed friend, perchance, May gaze with stifled breath; And oft, in momentary trance, Forget the waste of death.
E'en thus a lovely rose I view'd,
In summer-swelling pride;
Nor mark'd the bud that, green and rude, Peep'd at the rose's side.
It cnanced, I pass'd again that way.
In autumn's latest hour,
And wond'ring saw the self-same spray
Rich with the self-same flower.
Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud, Alike in shape, place, name,
Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud, Another and the same!
WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL.
Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better Received from absent friend by way of Letter.
For what so sweet can labored lays impart
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?-ANON.
OR travels my meandering eye
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with "green radiance" through the grass, An emerald of light.
O ever present to my view! My wafted spirit is with you,
And soothes your boding fears: I see you all oppressed with gloom Sit lonely in that cheerless room— Ah me! you are in tears!
Beloved Woman! did you fly
Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye, Or Mirth's untimely din? With cruel weight these trifles press A temper sore with tenderness, When aches the Void within.
But why with sable wand unblest Should Fancy rouse within my breast Dim-visaged shapes of Dread? Untenanting its beauteous clay My Sara's soul has wing'd its way, And hovers round my head!
I felt it prompt the tender dream, When slowly sank the day's last gleam; You roused each gentler sense, As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom Meek evening wakes its soft perfume With viewless influence.
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans Through yon reft house! O'er rolling stones In bold ambitious sweep,
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark reddening from the channelled Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile Unslated by the blast)
The watchfire, like a sullen star, Twinkles to many a dozing tar Rude cradled on the mast.
* The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel.
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