“THE JOY OF GRIEF.”
Ossian.
Sweet the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh,
And the tear of resignation
Twinkles in the mournful eye.
Have you felt a kind emotion
Tremble through your troubled breast,
Soft as Evening o'er the ocean
When she charms the waves to rest?
Have you lost a friend or brother?
Heard a father's parting breath?
Gazed upon a lifeless mother,
Till she seem'd to wake from death?
Have you felt a spouse expiring
In your arms before your view?
Watch'd the lovely soul retiring
From her eyes that broke on you?
Did not grief then grow romantic,
Raving on remember'd bliss?
Did you not, with fervour frantic,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss?
Yes! but when you had resign'd her,
Life and you were reconciled;
Anna left—she left behind her—
One, one dear, one only child.
But, before the green moss, peeping,
His poor mother's grave array'd,
In that grave the infant sleeping
On the mother's lap was laid.
Horror then, your heart congealing,
Chill'd you with intense despair:
Can you call to mind the feeling?
No! there was no feeling there.
From that gloomy trance of sorrow
When you woke to pangs unknown,
How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on you alone!
Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
Can the poor heart always ache?
No; the tortured nerve will languish,
Or the strings of life must break.
O'er the yielding brow of Sadness
One faint smile of comfort stole;
One soft pang of tender gladness
Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.
While the wounds of woe are healing,
While the heart is all resign'd;
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
'Tis the sabbath of the mind.
Pensive memory then retraces
Scenes of bliss for ever fled,
Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with the dead.
And when night's prophetic slumbers
Rend the veil to mortal eyes,
From their tombs the sainted numbers
Of our lost companions rise.
You have seen a friend, a brother,
Heard a dear dead father speak;
Proved the fondness of a mother,
Felt her tears upon your cheek.
Dreams of love your grief beguiling,
You have clasp'd a consort's charms,
And received your infant smiling
From his mother's sacred arms.
Trembling, pale, and agonising,
While you mourn'd the vision gone,
Bright the morning-star arising,
Open'd heaven, from whence it shone.
Thither all your wishes bending,
Rose in ecstasy sublime;
Thither all your hopes ascending,
Triumph'd over death and time.
Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken,
Have you known such sweet relief?
Yes, my friend; and, by this token,
You have felt “the joy of grief.”
1803.
