The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces Being an Appendix to Poems by The Rev. Richard Mant |
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TO ** ON VISITING THE SCENES OF HER INFANCY. |
 | The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces |  |
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TO ** ON VISITING THE SCENES OF HER INFANCY.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Beats at the breast, and turns the past to pain.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Beats at the breast, and turns the past to pain.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Tho' pleasure beam on every cheek,
Shall I surprise, my Betsey, feel,
If from thy breast a sigh should break,
If from thine eye a tear should steal?
Shall I surprise, my Betsey, feel,
If from thy breast a sigh should break,
If from thine eye a tear should steal?
Those waving firs, that cowslip mead,
Yon grassy mound, that skirts the main,
Speak to thy heart of pleasures fled,
Which never must return again.
Yon grassy mound, that skirts the main,
Speak to thy heart of pleasures fled,
Which never must return again.
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Yon house, that saw thy early joys,
Yon garden, planted by thy care,
Each scene another's hand employs,
And strangers now inhabit there.
Yon garden, planted by thy care,
Each scene another's hand employs,
And strangers now inhabit there.
And she, who bore a mother's part
(Thy childhood, ah! no mother blest)
And form'd to virtuous thoughts thy heart,
Beneath this sod is now at rest.
(Thy childhood, ah! no mother blest)
And form'd to virtuous thoughts thy heart,
Beneath this sod is now at rest.
Hark! as the hallow'd ground we tread,
A sainted spirit seems to cry,
“And does for me among the dead
“My Betsey heave the mindful sigh?
A sainted spirit seems to cry,
“And does for me among the dead
“My Betsey heave the mindful sigh?
“Yet ah! the rising sigh repress,
“And ah! repress the starting tear,
“Which mourn for dear departed bliss,
“And friends departed, doubly dear:
“And ah! repress the starting tear,
“Which mourn for dear departed bliss,
“And friends departed, doubly dear:
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“And bid thy soul on reason's wing
“To purer climes exulting soar;
“To climes, where joys unfading spring,
“And friends shall meet, to part no more.”
“To purer climes exulting soar;
“To climes, where joys unfading spring,
“And friends shall meet, to part no more.”
| The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces | |