A gallery of famous English and American poets . res law designed—•Why was an independent wish Eer planted in my mind?If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn?Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ? Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast;This partial view of human-kind Is surely not the best!The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born,Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn! 0 Death! the poor mans dearest friend- The kindest and the best!Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest!The great
A gallery of famous English and American poets . res law designed—•Why was an independent wish Eer planted in my mind?If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn?Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ? Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast;This partial view of human-kind Is surely not the best!The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born,Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn! 0 Death! the poor mans dearest friend- The kindest and the best!Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest!The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow. From pomp and pleasure torn;But, oh! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 115 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingring star, with lessning ray, That lovst to greet the early morn,Again tliou usherst in the day My Mary from my soul was Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest?Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast? •^s^.. That sacred hour can I forget,Can I forget the hallowed grove. Where by the winding Ayr we met,To live one day of parting love ? 116 BUENS. Eternity cannot efface Those records dear of transports past;Thy image at our last embrace; Ah! Httle thought we twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, Oerhung with wildwoods, thickning, green ;The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. Twined amrous round the raptured scene;The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed. The birds sang love on every spray—Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still oer these scenes my memry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care!Time but tli impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest?Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast?
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksu, booksubjectenglishpoetry
