Nugae Modernae Morning thoughts, and midnight musings: consisting of casual reflections, egotisms, &c. In prose and verse. By Thomas Park |
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REMEMBRANCE. |
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REMEMBRANCE.
WRITTEN ON CHRISTMAS-EVE 1817.
With ivy “never sere” and mournful yew
I crown the semblance of a friend most true,
A wedded friend! who might have been to me
Even as a sister, for her chastity;
Unblemish'd still in spirit and in thought—
Would that my mind her purity had caught!
Pious she was, and on her Lord's lov'd day
Compos'd a lowly pattern how to pray.
Such firm dependence had she on her God,
That, though a path of peril oft she trod,
Her every care was on her Maker cast,
Assur'd, so doing, to be safe at last.
I crown the semblance of a friend most true,
A wedded friend! who might have been to me
Even as a sister, for her chastity;
Unblemish'd still in spirit and in thought—
Would that my mind her purity had caught!
Pious she was, and on her Lord's lov'd day
Compos'd a lowly pattern how to pray.
Such firm dependence had she on her God,
That, though a path of peril oft she trod,
Her every care was on her Maker cast,
Assur'd, so doing, to be safe at last.
Friendship was cherish'd with such generous glow,
That she would rush, at night, thro' frost and snow,
To succour female weakness, when her frame
Needed from others' watchings much the same.
With tenderest pity would her bosom bleed,
And her own wants deny for those in need:
While love connubial and maternal join'd
To wear her life by such an anxious mind,
That she became a martyr to her fears,
If not a victim to her matron cares.
That she would rush, at night, thro' frost and snow,
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Needed from others' watchings much the same.
With tenderest pity would her bosom bleed,
And her own wants deny for those in need:
While love connubial and maternal join'd
To wear her life by such an anxious mind,
That she became a martyr to her fears,
If not a victim to her matron cares.
By skill and science highly was she grac'd
In Music's melting art, and with such taste
And touch of feeling did she sounds convey,
Her heart appear'd more than her hands to play:
Yet what did most the hearts of others win,
All was sweet harmony, sweet peace within;
Whence I may say, who best have claim to know,
She never lost a friend, she never made a foe.
Take this remembrance, dear departed Worth!
Till Heav'n do more make known what once thou wert on Earth.
In Music's melting art, and with such taste
And touch of feeling did she sounds convey,
Her heart appear'd more than her hands to play:
Yet what did most the hearts of others win,
All was sweet harmony, sweet peace within;
Whence I may say, who best have claim to know,
She never lost a friend, she never made a foe.
Take this remembrance, dear departed Worth!
Till Heav'n do more make known what once thou wert on Earth.
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