SONNET III. TO AN AGED PARENT, ON SEEING HIM SHED TEARS.
When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys
Fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees,
At ev'ry little breath Misfortune blows.
Young.
Fond Parent, whom on earth I love most dear,
Why steals that sigh of sadness from thy breast?
I too do grieve to see thee sore oppress'd,
Whilst down thy care-worn cheek steals many a tear!
Thou weep'st, my father!—the sad cause I guess:
Long hast thou journey'd o'er life's mazy wild,
A sorrowing traveller, by false Hope beguil'd,
And few there be who pity thy distrees;
Nor Plenty on thy cot hath ever smil'd.
Robb'd of the blissful partner of each hour,
All thy self-promis'd joys, alas! are fled;
On thee life's wintry storms begin to low'r,
And thou dost bend. So fades the summer flow'r
At winter's keen approach, and droops its feeble head.
