My hand she press'd, wet with her falling tears,
And thus, in faltering accents, spoke her fears;—
'Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er,
And we must part (alas!) to meet no more!
But, oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear,
If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd ear;
If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune smil'd in
vain.
If it has been my sole endeavour, still
To act in all obsequious to thy will:
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,
Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less;
If this I've done, and more-oh! then be kind
To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
When time my once-lov'd memory shall efface,
Some happier maid may take thy Emma's place,
With envious eyes thy partial fondness see,
And hate it for the love thou bore to me:
My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears,
But one word more- (I cannot bear thy tears)
Promise-and I will trust thy faithful vow,
(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true)
That to some distant spot thou wilt remove
This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love,
Where, safe, thy blandishments it may partake;
And, oh! be tender for its mother's sake:
Wilt thou?
I know thou wilt-sad silence speaks assent,
And in that pleasing hope thy Emma dies con-
I, who with more than manly strength have borne
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Sustain the firmness of my soul no more,
But sink beneath the weight:
'Just Heaven!' I cried, 'from memory's earliest
No comfort has thy wretched suppliant known, Misfortune still with unrelenting sway
Has claim'd me for her own.
But oh!-in pity to my grief, restore
This only source of bliss; I ask-I ask no more—
Vain hope-th' irrevocable doom is pass'd,
Ev'n now she looks-she sighs her last-
Vainly I strive to stay her fleeting breath,
And, with rebellious heart, protest against her
death.
When the stern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wish to tear her from the skies,
How curse my fate in bitterness of wo!
But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead?
Fond man, forbear,
Thy fruitless sorrow spare,
Dare not to task what Heaven's high will decreed;
In humble reverence kiss th' afflictive rod,
And prostrate bow to an offended God.
Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some saving truth thy roving soul to teach;
To wean thy heart from groveling views below,
And point out bliss beyond Misfortune's reach :
To show that all the flattering schemes of joy,
Which towering Hope so fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can destroy,
And plunge th' exulting maniac in despair.
Then O! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy present loss-haply, thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain ;
Time shall administer its wonted balm,
And hush this storm of grief to no unpleasing
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!
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
Where's now the sprightly jest, the jocund
song ?
Time creeps unconscious of delight : How shall I cheat the tedious day?
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;
May steal once more a balmy kiss,
And taste, at least, of visionary bliss.
But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my shadowy scenes of bliss deplore,
Will tear the dear illusion from my sight,
And wake me to the sense of all my woes :
If to the verdant fields I stray,
Alas! what pleasures now can these convey?
Her lovely form pursues where'er I go,
And darkens all the scene with wo.
By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more,
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. Count every minute of the loitering day, Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bosom discompose,
Who now, with sweet complacent air
Shall smooth the rugged brow of Care,
And soften all my woes?
Too faithful Memory- -Cease, O cease-
How shall I e'er regain my peace?
(0 to forget her!)-but how vain each art, Whilst every virtue lives imprinted on my heart.
And thou, my little cherub, left behind,
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-(O 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 fond delight
Thy infant steps to guide aright?
She, who with doating eyes
On all thy little artless ways,
By all thy soft endearments bless'd,
And clasp thee oft with transport to her breast,
A father's dearest, tenderest love;
And, O sweet senseless smiler, (envied state!)
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,
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