 | The Peacock at Home; and Other Poems |  |
106
ADDRESS TO THE MOON.
[_]
The following lines were suggested by the story of a Lady, who having had her son removed from her protection, at a very early age, adopted the same expedient of carrying on an imaginary intercourse with him, as was devised by the two Lovers mentioned in one of the old French romances, viz. that of looking at the Moon at stated periods, agreed on between them. The son (who was well known to the author) has frequently assured her, that no occupation or amusement ever withheld him on moon-light nights from a dutiful observance of this her last injunction, during the short period she survived their separation, and that through life he never could look at the Moon, without associating with it the tender recollection of a beloved and unhappy mother.
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Oh! silver Moon! fair sovereign of night,
Dear to my heart is thy returning light,
Thy tranquil influence seems to soothe my pain,
For Sorrow loves thy soft and silent reign—
And as I watch thy orb serene and mild,
My soul springs forth to meet my absent child;
Yes, at this hour to sadness ever sweet,
On thy bright disk our pensive eyes shall meet;
One ray of bliss from thee I yet enjoy,
One point of union with my darling boy;
Nor time nor absence from his gentle breast
Can e'er efface his mother's last behest;
Ev'n now—he gazes on thy trem'lous light,
Thro' the fond filial tear that dims his sight;
My faded form before his eyes appears,
He feels my touch—my languid voice he hears;
Each word endearing I was wont to speak,
While my warm kisses glow upon his cheek.
Oh! it is soothing to my soul to know,
One link yet binds us in this vale of woe.
Dear to my heart is thy returning light,
Thy tranquil influence seems to soothe my pain,
For Sorrow loves thy soft and silent reign—
And as I watch thy orb serene and mild,
My soul springs forth to meet my absent child;
Yes, at this hour to sadness ever sweet,
On thy bright disk our pensive eyes shall meet;
One ray of bliss from thee I yet enjoy,
One point of union with my darling boy;
Nor time nor absence from his gentle breast
Can e'er efface his mother's last behest;
Ev'n now—he gazes on thy trem'lous light,
Thro' the fond filial tear that dims his sight;
My faded form before his eyes appears,
He feels my touch—my languid voice he hears;
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While my warm kisses glow upon his cheek.
Oh! it is soothing to my soul to know,
One link yet binds us in this vale of woe.
Methinks the wandering spirits of the air
Smile as they pass, and tell me he is there;
Tell me his eyes are fix'd intent on thee,
While ev'ry tender thought reverts to me.
Smile as they pass, and tell me he is there;
Tell me his eyes are fix'd intent on thee,
While ev'ry tender thought reverts to me.
Return, aërial Forms! return and bear
The mother's wishes, and the mother's prayer;
Tell him, my heart, with his lov'd image fraught,
Beats but for him, nor owns another thought,
Morn sees me bend before the heav'nly throne,
Night hears me pleading for my absent Son.
But him! no tender mother's anxious care
Shall teach to raise his little hands in prayer,
Instruct his tongue to lisp his Maker's praise,
Or guide his footsteps in his sacred ways.
To virtue who shall lead his erring youth?
The rugged path of science who shall smooth?
What eye, where sorrow meets parental love,
Weep for the fault, which Duty must reprove?
Whose care shall watch the couch of dire disease?
His infant griefs, what voice shall lull to peace?
Since never more to this maternal breast,
Shall the dear idol of my soul be prest.
For in the cruel hour that bade us part,
Death wing'd th'impoison'd arrow to my heart;
And ere, bright Planet! thou shalt thrice renew
Thy crescent in yon arch of heavenly blue,
Low shall my head be laid in endless rest;
My wounded spirit, mingled with the blest
And if (when this tumultuous scene we leave,
As Fancy prompts th'enthusiast to believe)
It is permitted from the realms above
To watch the objects of our earthly love,
Sure pitying Heav'n will grant the boon I ask,
To guard my infant be my sacred task;
Round his lov'd head my sheltering wings to spread,
Glide in his path, and hover o'er his bed.
And as thro' time's dark veil my trusting eye
(Sketch'd by hope's golden pencil) can descry
The latent features of his manly mind,
By early sorrows ripen'd and refin'd,
The ardent spirit and the graceful form,
The heart with ev'ry kind affection warm;
By fond remembrance urg'd, the youth will prove
How well the child deserv'd his mother's love.
Then to these mournful scenes he will return,
And wash with tears my long-neglected urn.
And when, O lovely Moon! thy silver rays
Shall shed their tranquil light on happier days,
Thy sight shall still, with my sad image join'd,
Recall his mother's memory to his mind.
The mother's wishes, and the mother's prayer;
Tell him, my heart, with his lov'd image fraught,
Beats but for him, nor owns another thought,
Morn sees me bend before the heav'nly throne,
Night hears me pleading for my absent Son.
But him! no tender mother's anxious care
Shall teach to raise his little hands in prayer,
109
Or guide his footsteps in his sacred ways.
To virtue who shall lead his erring youth?
The rugged path of science who shall smooth?
What eye, where sorrow meets parental love,
Weep for the fault, which Duty must reprove?
Whose care shall watch the couch of dire disease?
His infant griefs, what voice shall lull to peace?
Since never more to this maternal breast,
Shall the dear idol of my soul be prest.
For in the cruel hour that bade us part,
Death wing'd th'impoison'd arrow to my heart;
And ere, bright Planet! thou shalt thrice renew
Thy crescent in yon arch of heavenly blue,
Low shall my head be laid in endless rest;
My wounded spirit, mingled with the blest
110
As Fancy prompts th'enthusiast to believe)
It is permitted from the realms above
To watch the objects of our earthly love,
Sure pitying Heav'n will grant the boon I ask,
To guard my infant be my sacred task;
Round his lov'd head my sheltering wings to spread,
Glide in his path, and hover o'er his bed.
And as thro' time's dark veil my trusting eye
(Sketch'd by hope's golden pencil) can descry
The latent features of his manly mind,
By early sorrows ripen'd and refin'd,
The ardent spirit and the graceful form,
The heart with ev'ry kind affection warm;
By fond remembrance urg'd, the youth will prove
How well the child deserv'd his mother's love.
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And wash with tears my long-neglected urn.
And when, O lovely Moon! thy silver rays
Shall shed their tranquil light on happier days,
Thy sight shall still, with my sad image join'd,
Recall his mother's memory to his mind.
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