The Poetical Works of John Langhorne ... To which are prefixed, Memoirs of the Author by his Son the Rev. J. T. Langhorne ... In Two Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Langhorne |  |
132
MONODY.
1759.
Ah scenes belov'd! ah conscious shades,
That wave these parent-vales along!
Ye bowers where Fancy met the tuneful maids,
Ye mountains vocal with my Doric song,
Teach your wild echoes to complain
In sighs of solemn woe, in broken sounds of pain.
That wave these parent-vales along!
Ye bowers where Fancy met the tuneful maids,
Ye mountains vocal with my Doric song,
Teach your wild echoes to complain
In sighs of solemn woe, in broken sounds of pain.
For her I mourn,
Now the cold tenant of the thoughtless urn—
For her bewail these strains of woe,
For her these filial sorrows flow,
Source of my life, that led my tender years,
With all a parent's pious fears,
That nurs'd my infant thought, and taught my mind to grow.
Now the cold tenant of the thoughtless urn—
For her bewail these strains of woe,
For her these filial sorrows flow,
Source of my life, that led my tender years,
With all a parent's pious fears,
That nurs'd my infant thought, and taught my mind to grow.
Careful, she mark'd each dangerous way,
Where youth's unwary footsteps stray:
She taught the struggling passions to subside;
Where sacred truth, and reason guide,
In virtue's glorious path to seek the realms of day.
Where youth's unwary footsteps stray:
She taught the struggling passions to subside;
Where sacred truth, and reason guide,
In virtue's glorious path to seek the realms of day.
133
Lamented goodness! yet I see
The fond affections melting in her eye:
She bends its tearful orb on me,
And heaves the tender sigh:
As thoughtful, she the toils surveys,
That crowd in life's perplexing maze,
And for her children feels again
All, all that love can fear, and all that fear can feign.
The fond affections melting in her eye:
She bends its tearful orb on me,
And heaves the tender sigh:
As thoughtful, she the toils surveys,
That crowd in life's perplexing maze,
And for her children feels again
All, all that love can fear, and all that fear can feign.
O best of parents! let me pour
My sorrows o'er thy silent bed;
There early strew the vernal flower,
The parting tear at evening shed—
Alas! are these the only meed
Of each kind thought, each virtaous deed,
These fruitless offerings that embalm the dead?
My sorrows o'er thy silent bed;
There early strew the vernal flower,
The parting tear at evening shed—
Alas! are these the only meed
Of each kind thought, each virtaous deed,
These fruitless offerings that embalm the dead?
Then, fairy-featur'd Hope, forbear—
No more thy fond illusions spread:
Thy shadowy scenes dissolv'd in air,
Thy visionary prospects fled;
With her they fled, at whose lamented shrine
Love, gratitude, and duty mingled tears,
Condemn'd each filial office to resign,
Nor hopeful more to soothe her long-declining years.
No more thy fond illusions spread:
Thy shadowy scenes dissolv'd in air,
Thy visionary prospects fled;
With her they fled, at whose lamented shrine
Love, gratitude, and duty mingled tears,
Condemn'd each filial office to resign,
Nor hopeful more to soothe her long-declining years.
| The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | |