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Poems by Bernard Barton

Fourth Edition, with Additions
 

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TO MY DAUGHTER,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


240

TO MY DAUGHTER,

WITH HER FATHER'S “POEMS,” &C.

I hope not through these pages
To bid my humble Name
Survive to distant ages,
Enwreath'd by splendid Fame.
Such prouder expectation
May loftier Bards inspire;
A lowlier aspiration
Repays my simple Lyre.
Enough—if it shall give me,
At Memory's sweetest shrine,
Thoughts—feelings—to outlive me
In hearts belov'd—like thine.
The wreath that crowns a Poet
May wake a transient thrill;
But who would not forego it
For something dearer still?

241

A purer joy is blended
With many a look, and smile,
Than e'er from Fame most splendid
The bosom can beguile.
Oh! such at times have lighten'd
Like sunshine on my way,
And by their influence brighten'd
Thy Father's darkest day.
I have no Foes,—to set them
As beacons in thy sight;
And if I had,—“Forget them!
Is all that I would write.
But well my Friends thou knowest,
And blessings rest on Thee!
As gratitude thou showest
For kindness done to me.