At last my closing eye forgot to weep,
And o'er it past the viewless wand of sleep.
Dark visions came, all broken and distrest,
Uncall'd, unsought, the enemies of rest;
Such as wild fever draws in fearful guise,
Before the restless mourner's half-clos'd eyes.
Strange forms were seen of more than mortal birth,
And hollow voices whisper'd from the earth;
Wild storms arose, contending billows dash'd,
And thro' the gloom, a sudden lustre flash'd;
When lo, a silver lamp, whose stately spire,
All bright and vivid, glow'd with heavenly fire,
Cast its pure light o'er streams, that murmur low,
Gleam'd on the mountains, cheer'd the vale of
woe;
But as I gaz'd, the beam afar was borne,
The spire was quench'd, the silver lamp was gone.
Then sable waters rose with angry sweep,
A lonely vessel founders on the deep;
While thunders peal, and livid lightnings gleam,
And troubled spectres glar'd upon the dream.
Then rose a Gothic dome, with arch sublime, Whose lofty towr's withstood the shocks of time, Its spacious halls receiv'd the welcome guest, Tho' sick, or weak, or famish'd or distrest;
While from its windows gleam'd a steady ray,
To light the traveller on his lonely way.
But thundering from below, a viewless shock
Heaves the strong base, and rends the marble rock;
Quick from its cope the sunward beam declin❜d,
Thro' its long arches shriek'd the hollow wind;
The pond'rous columns on the earth were thrown,
The trembling earth return'd a hollow moan;
Sad o'er the spot a mournful cypress hung,
The long grass wav'd, and mossy hillocks sprung.
Yet, round a mouldering arch, a lonely form Twin'd a damp wreath that trembled in the storm, Breath'd o'er its leaves, the sighs of gratitude, And with fond tears the drooping flowers bedew'd.
Whose correspondence had been interrupted by domestic occupations, and the various cares of a matron.
THUS ancient matrons, high in virtue rais'd, Whom princes honour'd, and whom sages prais'd,
Like you, the needle's various labours taught,
And in the loom, and at the distaff wrought;
Hence, spoils of industry adorn'd their home,
And with new lustre glow'd the arts of Rome.
Ah! sweeter far, o'er such a charge to bend,
To calm domestic life, a joy to lend,
Than cloth'd in royal robes, the guise of pain,
To wield a sceptre o'er the shrinking train ;
Toss on the wave of pow'r, or dictate proud,
Or rule the fancies of a fickle crowd;
Or pass in fields of blood the deathful day,
Urge on the battle, point the fierce array,
Drive over fallen ranks the reeking car,
Rage, toil, and revel mid the din of war;
Renounce each female grace, each soft intent,
To snatch the prize, that nature never meant,
To win a short applause, to build a name,
To grasp the fleeting shade of sullied fame;
Gleam o'er the historic page, as meteors move,
To claim our wonder, not awake our love.
Oh, sweeter far, in shades obscure to hide,
Where meek content, and piety reside,
Where heaven-born virtue sheds a lucid ray,
And intellectual joys inspire the day,
While o'er the scene no waves of discord roll,
To quench the light of mercy in the soul.
And sweet like thee, dear friend, with pensive eyes,
To watch the plants of reason as they rise;
Hang o'er your clusters, like the bending vine,
And teach the infant tendril where to twine;
Guard from the mildew's taint, the frost severe,
Repel the noxious weed that ventures near;
Lead the young leaves to lift their drooping heads,
And drink the purest dew, that evening sheds ;
Curb the aspiring shoots that mount too high,
Lest in the blast the forward hope should die ;
To turn the clear stream to the spreading root,
Catch the first promise of a grateful fruit ;
Bind the young buds, whose stalks the winds have
riven,
And prune the boughs, and point their way to heaven.
But who can paint the thrill of extacy,
With which a mother meets her babes on high?
Perchance the tempest's rage, with furious strife,
Had driven them darkly o'er the sea of life;
Perchance the shafts of death, that ceaseless rove,
Had early pierc'd the brittle band of love;
Perchance the wide-stretch'd zone, or Ocean
waves,
Had roll'd between their long-divided graves;
Now safely scap'd from earth's delusive shore,
Now join'd in glory to divide no more,
What mortal hand can touch that raptur'd string,
Whose high-rais'd tones salute th' Eternal King?
Lo! these are they whom thou to me didst trust, These souls immortal, then enshrin'd in dust; I took them trembling, at thy high decree, Receive, instruct, and render back to me." Thoughtful I strove with mild affection's sway, To blend with reason's dawn, religious ray ; To smooth the path of duty, lure the course Of those fair streams up to their parent source ; By night, my waking thoughts on these were bent, By day, to thee, the fervent prayer was sent, That the bright star of heaven might light their
And e'vn in youth their wayward hearts be wise;
But vain had been the anxious, watchful care,
In vain the ceaseless, fond maternal prayer,
Had not a viewless power with love divine,
Matur'd the work, and crown'd the great design.
O CHILD of innocence and bliss,
And gentle mirth, and joy benign,
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