 | The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth |  |
THE FATHER'S TEAR.
The tear was in his eye when he spoke.—
Ossian.
Ossian.
I.
Oh! could I raise my thought above the mount,Which rises from the region of my soul,
I'd show you all the seat of that pure fount,
Which seems to trickle down in vast amount,
In billows, which must ever, ever roll!
II.
Oh! could I dive beyond the littleness of man,And with the ink eternal, write of pain—
I'd sit my soul on fire,—and try to scan
The sea of immortality—where ran
The river of my grief—my briny rain!
III.
Oh! could I but inspire my aged song,And raise my thoughts beyond the realm of time!
I'd harp this sorrow, which must reign so long—
Proceeding from a broken heart, which did no wrong,
To tell you how I lost my Adaline!
IV.
And could I thus expostulate on tears!Which roll like billows o'er my aged heart!
I'd raise thy sympathies—thy doubts and fears!
Which wake my symphony of earthly cares;
To speak of sorrows, and that fearless dart!
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V.
And could I dip my hasty pen to writeImmortal things—imperishable songs!
I'd heave thy soul to blind thy youthful sight!
And show you in the mirror of your might,
How you should weep, when reft of pure delight!
VI.
Oh! could I pen Eternity's long years!And penetrate the hidden soul of strife!
I'd raise the ocean of thy gateless tears;
And overflow thy cheeks in midst of jeers,
With floods of grief, like mine, in aged life!
VII.
Oh! could I give a guerdon—such as truthAnd soberness would dictate as thy due,
Then would I make thee weep—oh! friendly youth!
The path I trod in youth was surely smooth,
Till my soul's Adaline bid me adieu!
VIII.
And had I such a harp as I would want,To roll my sorrows o'er my aged strain!
I'd confiscate that heart, which would not grant
Me one pure test, in midst of my lament;
And when I thought of her, would sing again!
IX.
And, could I wake the buried sound of yore,To speak in argument of soul sincere;
I'd tell the sorrows of my native shore,
And that pure seraph which awoke the tear,
The comfort of my heart, and babe so dear!
X.
Oh! could I but recall that child again,And make her consciousness of life appear;
I'd weep no more, such heavy clouds of rain!
Which chill my cheeks, like billows of the main;
But I would cease my ministrelsy, the tear!
XI.
Oh! could she but revisit that sweet home,32
I'd not remain in bitterness, alone!
But I would hush my dirge in ocean's moan;
And make no more, my lyre, to sing the tear.
XII.
And may my vows remain forever true,While assignations, such as these, appear!
I'd wake the chorus of my lyre, for you!
Which soon would bathe my aged cheeks with dew,
And cause a mutual flood of grief, the tear.
XIII.
And may this be the last of my soul's grief!But then, can I resume my fond career?
Oh! can contentment give my heart relief,
In midst of love, where I remain the chief,
And cease my woful ministrelsy, the tear?
XIV.
Farewell my Adaline! farewell my dear!This is the tribute of my aged heart!
This is the offspring of a heart sincere;
This is my laureate—'tis affections tear!
I ne'er shall shed again—we meet, but ne'er to part!
XV.
Then, Harp awake thy glowing strain,And ease my heart of wo and sadness;
Where'er I be—where'er I roam,
Oh! fill my soul with joy and gladness.
| The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth | |