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Than yonder upstarts of the neighb'ring wood,
But since, although well qualified by age
One man alone, the father of us all,
O that those lips had language! Life has passa
RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE
OUT OF NORFOLK.
THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANNE BODHAM.
O 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 solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
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 sorrowing son, Wretch ev'n then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest 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 nursery 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, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish'd, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By expectation every day beguiled, 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 deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
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,