The beauties of the British poets, with a few introductory observations . ame that oft in childhood solaced me ;Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, Grieve not, my child ; chase all thy fears away IThe meek intelligence of those dear eyes,(Blest be the art that can immortalize,The art that baffles times tyrannic claimTo quench it,) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here !Who bidst me honour with an artless , a mother lost ,«o long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were
The beauties of the British poets, with a few introductory observations . ame that oft in childhood solaced me ;Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, Grieve not, my child ; chase all thy fears away IThe meek intelligence of those dear eyes,(Blest be the art that can immortalize,The art that baffles times tyrannic claimTo quench it,) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here !Who bidst me honour with an artless , a mother lost ,«o long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own:And, while that face renews my filial shall weave a charm for my relief;Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,A momentary dream, that thou art she. My mother ! when I learnt that thou wast wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ?Hovered thy spirit oer thy sorrowing son,Wretch even then, lifes journey just begun ?Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ;Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in , that maternal smile ! it answers {Ml/ia///n?^e /tLj Juia^a^mui
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Keywords: ., bookauthorwordsworthcollection, bookce, booksubjectenglishpoetry
