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278

THE CONCLUSION.

I

'Tis past the midnight hour, and yet
I linger o'er this page awhile,
As if I half indulg'd regret,
For what might rather prompt a smile;

II

A mournful smile, at hopes that shed
Their lustre, when my task began;
Which, like the hours between, are fled,
As now my closing leaf I scan.

III

It was a lovely Summer's morn
That first inspir'd my opening page;
Of thoughts and feelings brightly born
Hope was the nat'ral heritage.
279

IV

Stern Winter's winds are sweeping by
As now I linger o'er my last;
And Hope, like yonder starless sky,
By clouds is darkly overcast.

V

But thou, in hope and gloom the same,
Dear silent shade! art with me yet:
Filial affection owns thy claim,
And fondly chides each vain regret.

VI

For had these pages never lent
Another source of joy to me,
I owe them many hours, thus spent
In quient solitude with thee.

VII

Nor could this volume hope an end
My heart more gratefully would own,
Than feeling thus thy image blend
With her's, who could thy loss atone.
280

VIII

With her's, who so perform'd the part
Which Heaven but gave thee — to resign,
That childhood's unsuspecting heart
Knew not an earlier claim was thine.
 

A profile of the Author's mother.

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