 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
248
ODE.
[_]
Written for, and sung at the fifteenth Anniversary of the Massachusetts Charitable Fire Society, 1809.
GRAND RECITATIVE.
Bleak lowered the morn; the howling snow-drift blew;
Rude piles of devastation smoked around;
While houseless Outcasts, shivering o'er the ground,
Bade the sad phantoms of their Homes adieu;
Rude piles of devastation smoked around;
While houseless Outcasts, shivering o'er the ground,
Bade the sad phantoms of their Homes adieu;
AIR.
Ah! mouldering wrecks! ye flit in fearful trance,
And the vision of frenzy recall,
When in horror we leaped, with a fugitive glance,
From the flames of yon desolate Wall!
See, now, with blighting melancholy bare,
Like the monument stone at a sepulchre placed
It weeps o'er this ruinous waste,
As it totters and rocks in the air.
In vain, sweet pleading Pity calls;
Or the cry of shrill Terror appals;—
Bending, beetling, crushing o'er the crowded way,
Hark! it cracks! see, it falls!
And wretches forget all their griefs in dismay.
And the vision of frenzy recall,
When in horror we leaped, with a fugitive glance,
From the flames of yon desolate Wall!
See, now, with blighting melancholy bare,
Like the monument stone at a sepulchre placed
It weeps o'er this ruinous waste,
As it totters and rocks in the air.
In vain, sweet pleading Pity calls;
Or the cry of shrill Terror appals;—
Bending, beetling, crushing o'er the crowded way,
Hark! it cracks! see, it falls!
And wretches forget all their griefs in dismay.
RECITATIVE.
But lo! along its crumbling base,
With vacancy's ecstatic pace,
All-reckless, a heart-broken mourner repair;
Grief has reason beguiled,
And with melodies wild,
Invoking her child,
She wanders like Hope, and bewails like Despair.
With vacancy's ecstatic pace,
All-reckless, a heart-broken mourner repair;
249
And with melodies wild,
Invoking her child,
She wanders like Hope, and bewails like Despair.
AIR—Andante.
My Boy beneath this ruin lies!
Lost William! hear a Mother's sighs!
Through blasts that freeze, and paths that burn,
Thy tombless dust she comes to urn.
Now I thy cherub spirit see!
It spreads its doating arms to me!
It smiles in air! while piteous grace
Softens the sorrows of its face.
Vain was thy Mother's frantick flight
To snatch thee from the Fiend of Night!
Thy Couch, alas! thy funeral pyre,
Mid shrieks of horror, sunk in fire!
Lost William! hear a Mother's sighs!
Through blasts that freeze, and paths that burn,
Thy tombless dust she comes to urn.
Now I thy cherub spirit see!
It spreads its doating arms to me!
It smiles in air! while piteous grace
Softens the sorrows of its face.
Vain was thy Mother's frantick flight
To snatch thee from the Fiend of Night!
Thy Couch, alas! thy funeral pyre,
Mid shrieks of horror, sunk in fire!
ALLEGRO FURIOSO.
Now to clouds of purple light,
Where William sits, I'll steal my flight!
Cold is this crazy crust of clay,
He beckons to a warmer day!
Wealth! I'm a happier wretch than you,
And laughing bid the world, Adieu!
Where William sits, I'll steal my flight!
Cold is this crazy crust of clay,
He beckons to a warmer day!
Wealth! I'm a happier wretch than you,
And laughing bid the world, Adieu!
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |