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;
Yet art thou wise, for 'mid 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 mak'st 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!
ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S
HIS 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-
Mayst thou deserve thy name!
Thy mother's name—a potent spell,
That bids the virtues hie
From mystic grove and living cell
Confessed 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 missed 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.
Even thus a lovely rose I viewed,
In summer-swelling pride;
Nor marked the bud that, green and rude,
Peeped at the rose's side.
It chanced, I passed again that way,
In autumn's latest hour,
And wondering saw the selfsame spray
Rich with the selfsame flower.
Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name,
Had bloomed, where bloomed its parent stud, Another and the same!
Y honoured friend! whose verse concise yet clear
Tunes to smooth melody unconquered
May your fame fadeless live, as "never sere"
The ivy wreathes yon oak, whose broad defence
Embowers me from noon's sultry influence!
For, like that nameless rivulet stealing by,
Your modest verse to musing quiet dear
Is rich with tints heaven-borrowed; the charmed eye
Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the softened sky.
Circling the base of the poetic mount
A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow
Its coal-black waters from oblivion's fount;
The vapour poisoned birds, that fly too low,
Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom go.
Escaped that heavy stream on pinion fleet
Beneath the mountain's lofty-frowning brow,
Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet,
A mead of mildest charm delays the unlabouring feet.
Not there the cloud-climbed rock, sublime and vast,
That like some giant king o'erglooms the hill,
Nor there the pine-grove to the midnight blast
Makes solemn music! But the unceasing rill
To the soft wren or lark's descending trill
Murmurs sweet undersong 'mid jasmin bowers.
In this same pleasant meadow, at your will,
I ween you wandered-there collecting flowers
Of sober tint, and herbs of medicinable powers!
There for the monarch-murdered soldier's tomb,
You wove the unfinished wreath* of saddest hues,
And to that holier chaplet + added bloom,
Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews!
But lo! your Henderson ‡ awakes the muse
His spirit beckoned from the mountain's height!
You left the plain and soared 'mid richer views!
So Nature mourned, when sank the first day's light,
With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of
night!
Still soar, my friend, those richer views among,
Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing fancy's beam!
Virtue and truth shall love your gentler song;
But poesy demands the impassioned theme:
Waked by heaven's silent dews at eve's mild gleam
What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around!
But if the vexed air rush a stormy stream,
Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest honoured ground.
↑ John the Baptist, a poem.
Monody on John Henderson.
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