Then should I hope, again to see
A Mother's glance descend on me-
Again (from a celestial sphere)
Should her angelic spirit hear,
And, guarded by her fostering care,
Leave no access, to my despair.
who commended my Filial Tributes to the Angel-Mother.
WHAT Saint, or Angel, can reprove
Joy at her praise, that's dear to Love!
A wreath, surpassing all renown-
The Nation's gift-the Hero's crown!
From a pure fountain sprung the charm,
That Hope can bless, and Fear disarm ;
For it has made the heart its guide;
Nor ever stray'd from Honour's pride.
Of her, my solitude is proud,
Though careless of the fame that's loud:
No babbling Echos hear the sound;
The air it breathes no wind has found;
The tale no whisper shall impart;
Or trust the secret from the heart.
But impotent is that relief,
Against the filial Mourner's grief;
Congenial to his tear I deem
The partial note's enchanting theme.
With apathy, in pride of youth,
I've heard applause, the bane of truth;
Have seen the eloquent surprize
Beam from the mute, but speaking eyes:
But, when a Mother's praise I heard,
Love knew the tone, and bless'd the word;
No diffidence could bar the door,
And pride of joy could sleep no more.
Nor blame the heart, nor chide the Muse,
If in their antiquated views,
The wither'd form, that's now in earth
But grac'd the living Parent's worth,
Can thee disarm-when through my tears
Thy harp is tun'd-thy hand appears;
When praise, by thee, to Love address'd,
Is a new thorn, and bane of rest;
From the similitude it bore
To musick-that is heard no more.
CHRISTIAN JOY.
WHERE's the tear, that shall destroy
Such a theme of Christian joy?
Tell me, who has clos'd her breath,
But the Saint, that wish'd for death!
Heaven's accompt was bright and clear:
It was pain, that linger'd here;
Though on Life's Autumnal day
Time had shed no common ray,
Yet the generous feel a pain,
Too angelic to complain :
Secret anguish they possess,
Which the selfish cannot guess,
When their charities* can say—
“Time, and we,-have " lost a day."
But her Shade can Love inspire;
She is bless'd-and we admire:
* In the sense which Milton gives to the word, as embracing all the duties and sentiments of moral affection.
Unpresuming, as the earth,
She was dignified in worth.
Love, to Memory ensur'd,
Pays the debt her life abjur'd;
Love has made the wreath his own,
Cherish'd in the heart alone:
Sacred is the mournful trust;
All its pride is to be just;
For, if Truth is to redeem
From Humility its theme,
Bright is Honour's jealous crown,
In the posthumous renown,
By the filial tribute sav'd-
By the living Christian wav'd.
"UNPRESUMING!"
AN EPITHET IN MY DEAR MOTHER'S CHARACTER,
as it was drawn by one of her Female Relations*, in a most eloquent Letter upon the subject of her Death.
ANGELS;-catch the hallow'd word
By an Angel's voice conferr'd;
Wreath appropriate, and correct;
Homage by no flatteries deck'd!
Unpresuming!" never yet
So deserv'd an epithet;
With an intellect allied,
That would fill a Saint with pride,
And with such unspotted worth,
accompanies the birth
Of elected Spirits here,
Born to a celestial sphere,
*Lady Londonderry, the first Lord Camden's eldest daughter.
In their pilgrimage resign'd,
And with Christian pains refin’d.
Blush, ye Pharisees—and hide
All the symbols of your pride!
You, that still yourselves prefer,
Catch the mantle dropt by her!
Unobtrusive, and retir'd,
She could blush to be admir'd;
Yet, with energies unseen,
Was a perfect heroine:
Her ambition's golden prize,
When the tear of bliss could rise,
At a bounty's ample scope,
That surpass'd the wings of Hope;
Never seen-but in the gift,
Which the desolate could lift;
Never heard-but in the voice
That could make the heart rejoice;
By afflictions undismay'd,
And in blessings undecay'd;
Not a moment unemploy'd,
Not a mercy unenjoy'd,
Or to self-indulgence given,
Envy'd her the path to Heaven.
Yet, from abject thoughts exempt,
She was great-in Pride's contempt;
All the virtues meekly bore,
And uplifted them, the more.
Blest Humility*, appear!
Vindicate thy honours* here!
Spirit of the wise and good!
Thou art Pride, if understood.
* Before honour is humility. Proverbs.
THUS, from hallow'd Sinai's hill Heaven directed human will,
Gave the rule that Nature guest,
And the filial spirit blest.
But shall Death's cold hand remove
Such a debt of sacred love?
Shall it languish, and be faint,
When the Mother dies the Saint?
Shall it leap from the record,
When it aims at no reward?
Shall the labour be at rest.
When the soul it lov'd is blest?
Shall the heart its faith desert?
Shall the zeal be less alert,
Upon altars of the dead,
Than by living mercies fed?
Never shall the labour sleep,
Nor the eye refuse to weep,
Till the heart is in the dust,
And the tomb shall claim its trust.
Nor shall Melody refuse
Tears, that consecrate the Muse;
Nor the filial praise be dumb,
Till the silent hour is come-
Love shall risk the human thought,
Which in dreams from Hope is caught;
Hope, that, rising from the tomb,
Lifts to Heaven its trembling plume:-
God of Love!-shall I despair
Of the filial office, there?
May not Parents, own'd by thee,
Claim, and bless, the filial knee?
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