 | The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems |  |
v
Dedicatory Poem.
INSCRIBED TO THE FRIENDS AND PATRONS OF THE AUTHOR.
NO mercenary muse inspires my lay;
But Gratitude would her deep off'ring pay—
Her patrons and her friends would number o'er,
And, kneeling to the Orphan's God, implore
A blessing, pure as Pity's tear refin'd,
Rich as the treasures of the liberal mind,
Lasting as virtue, large as faith, to rest
On every feeling heart, and generous breast,
That, quick to hear, and prompt to grant relief,
Scarce waited till bereavement told her grief,
But patronized a muse unknown to fame,
And gave to hope, an energy, an aim:
Benevolence so delicate, so dear,
That words express not, but the grateful tear.—
To those who with their bounties, praises bring,
The muse, with pride, her warmest thanks shall sing.
But Gratitude would her deep off'ring pay—
Her patrons and her friends would number o'er,
And, kneeling to the Orphan's God, implore
A blessing, pure as Pity's tear refin'd,
Rich as the treasures of the liberal mind,
Lasting as virtue, large as faith, to rest
On every feeling heart, and generous breast,
That, quick to hear, and prompt to grant relief,
Scarce waited till bereavement told her grief,
But patronized a muse unknown to fame,
And gave to hope, an energy, an aim:
Benevolence so delicate, so dear,
That words express not, but the grateful tear.—
To those who with their bounties, praises bring,
The muse, with pride, her warmest thanks shall sing.
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Ye Maidens, fair as good, whose bosoms feel,
Whose hearts would staunch the wound ye cannot heal;
For you, may Spring's first blushing roses blow,
And on your cheeks, Health's sweeter roses glow;
With innocence your guard, and peace your guest,
In blessing others, may you still be blest.
Whose hearts would staunch the wound ye cannot heal;
For you, may Spring's first blushing roses blow,
And on your cheeks, Health's sweeter roses glow;
With innocence your guard, and peace your guest,
In blessing others, may you still be blest.
And Mothers, while your infant charge you tend,
And with caresses soft instruction blend,
And treasure up each prattler's tale with care,
As sweetest music for their father's ear—
Oh, you are happy! happy may you be!
Such happiness no more will smile for me.
And with caresses soft instruction blend,
And treasure up each prattler's tale with care,
As sweetest music for their father's ear—
Oh, you are happy! happy may you be!
Such happiness no more will smile for me.
And may those generous Youths, who boast a mind
Learning may grace, but nature hath refin'd,
Who felt a widow's woe, a woman's claim,
And gave, from sympathy, a patron name,
Feel the proud throb that conscious merit knows,
When genius treads the path that virtue shows,
Till manhood rip'ning every youthful hope,
They rise, their parents' pride, their country's prop
Within those academic halls they grace,
Then haply should my little sons have place,
Their hearts will kindle, when the names they see,
That aided, blest their orphan infancy.
Learning may grace, but nature hath refin'd,
Who felt a widow's woe, a woman's claim,
And gave, from sympathy, a patron name,
Feel the proud throb that conscious merit knows,
When genius treads the path that virtue shows,
Till manhood rip'ning every youthful hope,
They rise, their parents' pride, their country's prop
Within those academic halls they grace,
Then haply should my little sons have place,
Their hearts will kindle, when the names they see,
That aided, blest their orphan infancy.
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But chief doth to the Mystic Band belong
The hallowed tribute of my grateful song.
Ye, whose souls swell'd with sympathy sincere,
When bending o'er a brother's early bier,
And when his widow'd wife and infants sued,
Could feel the “luxury of doing good.”
Oh! may you still, in every fortune, know
The peace approving conscience can bestow;
And heaven, to crown its bounteous blessing, send
Each faithful heart, a dear and better friend,
That still, though earth should frown, and life were fled,
Would love you living, or lament you dead.
The hallowed tribute of my grateful song.
Ye, whose souls swell'd with sympathy sincere,
When bending o'er a brother's early bier,
And when his widow'd wife and infants sued,
Could feel the “luxury of doing good.”
Oh! may you still, in every fortune, know
The peace approving conscience can bestow;
And heaven, to crown its bounteous blessing, send
Each faithful heart, a dear and better friend,
That still, though earth should frown, and life were fled,
Would love you living, or lament you dead.
And lives there one, who, with ungen'rous part,
Will spurn this offering of the broken heart!
Whose envy of the man, he living, fear'd,
Now to his helpless family transferr'd,
Would crush them in the dust, a sacrifice,
That his vain race might on their ruin rise!
Will spurn this offering of the broken heart!
Whose envy of the man, he living, fear'd,
Now to his helpless family transferr'd,
Would crush them in the dust, a sacrifice,
That his vain race might on their ruin rise!
Envy, farewell! nor more pollute my line.
But let me hail thee, Charity divine!
Chief of the heavenly sisters, from thy throne
Oh, bend, and bless each heart that throbs thine own!
My Friends, my Patrons, bless with life and love,
With hope below, and happiness above.
But let me hail thee, Charity divine!
Chief of the heavenly sisters, from thy throne
Oh, bend, and bless each heart that throbs thine own!
My Friends, my Patrons, bless with life and love,
With hope below, and happiness above.
viii
Though my lov'd country should reward my toil,
And on my lay, approving, deign to smile,
And Taste bestow the meed the muses prize,
And Fancy all her day-dreams realize;
Still, still your patronage shall be my boast—
You kindly gave it, when 'twas needed most.
And on my lay, approving, deign to smile,
And Taste bestow the meed the muses prize,
And Fancy all her day-dreams realize;
Still, still your patronage shall be my boast—
You kindly gave it, when 'twas needed most.
| The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems | |