 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
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SCHOLAR'S TRIBUTE TO AN INSTRUCTOR.
As when an eye, accustomed to survey
The changeful aspect of an April day,
Turns back regretful to the purple dawn,
Or morning's rose-tint on the dewy lawn;
So I, from life's delusions, vain and wild,
Retrace the scenes that charm'd me when a child.
The changeful aspect of an April day,
Turns back regretful to the purple dawn,
Or morning's rose-tint on the dewy lawn;
So I, from life's delusions, vain and wild,
Retrace the scenes that charm'd me when a child.
Yet most I love those softly blending shades,
Where youth just glimmers, and where childhood fades;
And 'mid that cherish'd imagery I see,
Revered instructor, many a trace of thee,
Thy footsteps on the grass, all fresh with dew,
Thy gentle hands where early snow-drops grew.
Where youth just glimmers, and where childhood fades;
And 'mid that cherish'd imagery I see,
Revered instructor, many a trace of thee,
Thy footsteps on the grass, all fresh with dew,
Thy gentle hands where early snow-drops grew.
Too oft had critic rigour harshly doom'd
My buds of promise, withering ere they bloom'd,
Or cold neglect appall'd with freezing eye
A lonely mind, that shrank, it knew not why;
But thou didst stoop to shield that timid mind,
Wise as a teacher, as a parent kind,
With studious care, its wayward course to lead,
And nurse the music of the whispering reed.
My buds of promise, withering ere they bloom'd,
Or cold neglect appall'd with freezing eye
A lonely mind, that shrank, it knew not why;
But thou didst stoop to shield that timid mind,
Wise as a teacher, as a parent kind,
With studious care, its wayward course to lead,
And nurse the music of the whispering reed.
A plant of feeble stem, thou would'st not mock,
Rude as the flowers that clothe the Alpine rock,
Nor blight its tendrils with a causeless pang,
Nor scorn it, though from lowly bed it sprang;
But watch'd its rooting with a florist's care,
Rais'd its wan blossoms to a genial air,
And o'er its narrow leaves, and bending head,
Pure dews of knowledge and of virtue shed.
Rude as the flowers that clothe the Alpine rock,
Nor blight its tendrils with a causeless pang,
Nor scorn it, though from lowly bed it sprang;
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Rais'd its wan blossoms to a genial air,
And o'er its narrow leaves, and bending head,
Pure dews of knowledge and of virtue shed.
Even now of stature frail, and low degree,
More weak and worthless than it ought to be,
It turns to him its shrinking buds that blest,
And pours fresh fragrance from a grateful breast.
More weak and worthless than it ought to be,
It turns to him its shrinking buds that blest,
And pours fresh fragrance from a grateful breast.
Yet more than what I speak, to thee I owe,
And richer gifts than strains so weak can show;
Thy warning voice allur'd my listening youth
To seek the path of piety and truth,
And heaven's first hopes, as vernal sunbeams roll,
Dawn'd from thy prayers upon my waiting soul.
And richer gifts than strains so weak can show;
Thy warning voice allur'd my listening youth
To seek the path of piety and truth,
And heaven's first hopes, as vernal sunbeams roll,
Dawn'd from thy prayers upon my waiting soul.
Oh, ever free from pain, and doubt, and strife,
Flow on the current of thy tranquil life,
Pure as the streams that o'er white pebbles glide,
And mix reproachless with a mightier tide,
Bright as the star, whose trembling lamp on high
Precedes the morn, and gilds the evening sky,
Till time's brief tide the eternal sea shall stay,
And earth's dim lights at glory's sun decay.
Flow on the current of thy tranquil life,
Pure as the streams that o'er white pebbles glide,
And mix reproachless with a mightier tide,
Bright as the star, whose trembling lamp on high
Precedes the morn, and gilds the evening sky,
Till time's brief tide the eternal sea shall stay,
And earth's dim lights at glory's sun decay.
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |