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BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,
BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY
SWEET flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,
May HE who gies the rain to pour,
May HE, the friend of woe and want,
But late she flourish'd, rooted fast,
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
And from thee many a parent stem
OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR.
Alas! how oft doth goodness wound itself,
O THOU pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
And wanders here to wail and weep!
Beneath thy wan unwarming beam;
I joyless view thy rays adorn
Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease!
For ever bar returning peace
No idly feign'd poetic pains
My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;
Encircled in her clasping arms,
How have the raptur'd moments flown!
And must I think it! is she gone,
Oh! can she bear so base a heart,
The plighted husband of her youth!
Her way may lie through rough distress! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less? Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. That breast, how dreary now, and void, For her too scanty once of room! Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, And not a wish to gild the gloom! The morn that warns th' approaching day Awakes me up to toil and woe: I see the hours in long array,
That I must suffer, ling'ring, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant western main..
And when my nightly couch I try,
Sore harrass'd out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief; Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief,
Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright: Ev'n day, all bitter, brings relief,
From such a horror-breathing night.
O thou, bright queen, who o'er th' expans Now highest reigns't, with boundless sway Oft has thy silent-marking glance
Obsery'd us, fondly-wandering, stray!
The time, unheeded, sped away,
To mark the mutual kindling eye.
Again I feel, again I burn!
Life's weary vale I'll wander through s
OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care,
burden more than I can bear,
O life! thou art a galling load,
Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Still caring, despairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes bere shall close ne'er,
Happy, ye sons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,
Ev'n when the wished end's denied,
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry sad returning night
How blest the Solitary's lot,
The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Or, haply, to his evening thought,
His thoughts to Heav'n on high,
Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,
The Solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest!
Oh! enviable early days,
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,