 | Redwald |  |
62
WRITTEN ON Her Birth-Day,
Oct. 9, 1816.
Can that poor bard, whose sighs keep dreary time,
Breathe forth a lay to grace her natal hour?
Can she delight to sing in sounding rhyme,
Who weeps within a solitary bow'r?
Yet still soft poesy! she owns thy pow'r,
And grateful, loves to hear thy praise arise;
Like that fond, pensive, ever faithful, flow'r,
Which tho' forlorn, still dwells with dewy eyes
On him, who once was kind, and in his presence dies!
Breathe forth a lay to grace her natal hour?
Can she delight to sing in sounding rhyme,
Who weeps within a solitary bow'r?
Yet still soft poesy! she owns thy pow'r,
And grateful, loves to hear thy praise arise;
Like that fond, pensive, ever faithful, flow'r,
Which tho' forlorn, still dwells with dewy eyes
On him, who once was kind, and in his presence dies!
But gloomy strains awake her sleeping lyre,
For early dreams a pleasing prospect show'd—
They once a golden vision might inspire,
And peace o'er all the flatt'ring picture glow'd.
Yet, tho' on life's uncertain dreary road
Small store of years their low'ring course have roll'd,
Too soon the bard its darkest paths has trod,
And sorrow has her dismal story told
To one who thought not e'er to meet such greeting cold!
For early dreams a pleasing prospect show'd—
They once a golden vision might inspire,
And peace o'er all the flatt'ring picture glow'd.
63
Small store of years their low'ring course have roll'd,
Too soon the bard its darkest paths has trod,
And sorrow has her dismal story told
To one who thought not e'er to meet such greeting cold!
Her youth, by few of pleasure's garlands crown'd,
Droops 'neath misfortune's wither'd, leafless, band!
For friends when most requir'd are rarely found—
The name is little known in that sad land,
Where stern adversity with sceptred hand
Spreads her unwelcome, soul-appalling, sway,
Love and society desert her strand,
And 'midst gay crowds remembrance chase away,
For little do they love with pain and woe to stay!
Droops 'neath misfortune's wither'd, leafless, band!
For friends when most requir'd are rarely found—
The name is little known in that sad land,
Where stern adversity with sceptred hand
Spreads her unwelcome, soul-appalling, sway,
Love and society desert her strand,
And 'midst gay crowds remembrance chase away,
For little do they love with pain and woe to stay!
| Redwald | |