« EdellinenJatka »
My hand she press'd, wet with her falling tears,
To watch thy very smiles, and wish to know, · Then only truly bless'd when thou wert so;
If I have doated with that fond excess,
I, who with more than manly strength have borne
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
(day Just Heaven !' I cried, from memory's earliest
No comfort has thy wretched suppliant known,
Has claim'd me for her own.
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
How curse my fate in bitterness of wo!
Fond man, forbear,
Thy fruitless sorrow spare,
Some saving truth thy roving soul to teach ;
And point out bliss beyond Misfortune's reach :
One fatal moment can destroy,
Then 0! with pious fortitude sustain
Nor let thy Emma die in vain;
calm. Thus the poor bird, by some disastrous fate,
Caught and imprison'd in a lonely cage, Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,
Flutters awhile, and spends its little rage : But, finding all its efforts weak and vain,
No more it pants and rages for the plain ; Moping awhile in sullen mood
Droops the sweet mourner-but, ere long, Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,
And meditates the song: Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case, And with its plaintive warblings reddens all the
place, Forgive me, Heaven! yet--yet the tears will flow,
To think how soon my scene of bliss is past ! My bubbling joys just promising to blow,
All nipt and wither'd by one envious blast!
Move heavily along;
And O the joyless night! Where shall I rest my weary head ?
How shall I find repose on a sad widow'd bed?
Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace restore; Thy votary, wrapp'd in thy Lethean shade,
Awhile shall cease his sorrows to deplore : Haply, when lock'd in Sleep's embrace, Again I shall behold my Emina's face;
Again with transport hear
Her voice soft whispering in my ear;
Willall my shadowy scenes of bliss deplore,
If to the verdant fields I stray,
And darkens all the scene with wo.
Sorrowing I rove
Through valley, grot, and grove: Nought can these beauties or my loss restore ; No herb, no plant, can med'cine my disease, And my sad sighs are borne on every passing
breeze. Sickness and sorrow hovering round my bed,
Who now with anxious haste shall bring relief, With lenient hand support my drooping head,
Assuage my pains, and mitigate my grief? Should worldly business call away,
Who now shall in my absence fondly mourn.
Impatient for my quick return ?
Should aught my bosom discompose,
And soften all my woes ?
How shall I e'er regain my peace ?
To hear a father's plaints, to share his woes, When reason's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy sweet-lisping tongue shall ask the cause? How oft with sorrow shall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace
Thy mother's smile upon thy face: How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore Sad memory of my joys-ah, now no more! By blessings once enjoy'd now more distress'd, More beggar by the riches once possess’d. My little darling !- dearer to me grown [hear!)
By all the tears thou'st caus'd-(0 strange to Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own, Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier : Who now shall seek with food delight Thy infant steps to guide aright? She, who with doating eyes would gaze On all thy little artless ways,
By all thy soft endearments bless'd, And clasp thee oft with transport to her breast,
Alas! is gone- Yet shalt thou prove
A father's dearest, tenderest love;