Poems By George Dyer |
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| XIV. |
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| XVI. |
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| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. | ODE XXXVIII.
THE FAIR SCEPTIC;
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| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
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192
ODE XXXVIII. THE FAIR SCEPTIC;
OR, ASTERIA CONTEMPLATING HER INFANT'S COFFIN.
I
Ah me! how quick our pleasures fly!And, ah! how constant human woe!
As thorns 'mid roses ambush'd lie,
And on one branch together grow.
II
That ozier'd cradle's form survey;Then on yon coffin cast your eyes;
There wont a babe to smile and play;
Ah!—now that babe here senseless lies.
193
III
And late what joys yon fair beguil'd!Now lowly droops her languid head!
She smil'd;—for then her infant smil'd;
And now she mourns that infant dead.
IV
I too who shar'd Asteria's joy,Now share, in turn, Asteria's pain;
The bard, who hail'd her infant boy,
Now pours for him th' elegiac strain.
V
Ah! see, with still, reverted eyes,Like fabled Niobe, she sits;
Then near the coffin deep she sighs,
Muses, and weeps, and talks by fits.
VI
“Scarcely he felt life's feeblest glow;“His earliest smile beam'd, scarcely, round;
“And must the hasty traveller go,
“His eyes in sleep eternal bound?
194
VII
“What guilt could stain that infant breast?“What crime his little heart conceive?
“That sickness robb'd his days of rest,
“His shroud that Death so soon should weave?
VIII
“Whilst we on life's rough ocean rove,“The boisterous passions never cease:—
“But—why the tempest from above
“Disturb, when all within is peace?
IX
“Flow, then, my tears, nor cease my sighs:“Or must I rather kiss the rod?
“And weeping with parental eyes,
“In patience bless a sovereign God?
X
“For if, when life's short storm is sped,“Eternal sunshine smiles above,
“Why should we mortals mourn the dead?
“Why envy them their heaven of love?
195
XI
“For not so sweet the honey'd breath,“That Spring imbibes from opening flowers,
“As breathes an infant, if in death
“The soul is borne to heavenly bowers.
XII
“And when the last great trump should sound,“And wake the slumbering dead to rise,
“No purer dust should quit the ground,
“No brighter angel bless the skies.
XIII
“But who? or when? or where? Ah me!“On trembling wavering wings I soar—
“I see;—and yet I scarcely see;—
“And still I doubt, yet still adore.
XIV
“View the swift wheel encircling flie!—“So life's short circle whirls around;
“And soon a little dust we lie,
“Deep slumbering on the silent ground.
196
XV
“Blest be the sod, where sleep the brave!“The slumbers blest, that genius bind!
“But far more sacred be the grave,
“Where Innocence repose can find!
XVI
“Enjoy, sweet babe, thy envied sleep;“Oh! Earth, lie softly on that breast!—
“Ah! when shall I forget to weep?
“When sink, blest babe, like thee to rest?”
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