The Modern Dunciad Virgil in London and Other Poems [by George Daniel] |
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ON REVISITING MY FATHER'S GRAVE. |
 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
ON REVISITING MY FATHER'S GRAVE.
Are tears forbid?—The torrent pour'd
Down sorrow's cheek for virtue's doom,
Is surely not by heav'n abhorr'd—
'Tis soothing to the spirit's gloom—
David his Absalom deplor'd,
And Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb!
Down sorrow's cheek for virtue's doom,
Is surely not by heav'n abhorr'd—
'Tis soothing to the spirit's gloom—
David his Absalom deplor'd,
And Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb!
Yes, there's a holy balm in tears
That heals the heart as soon as shed;
Heav'n to a spot unseen for years
In mercy hath my footsteps led;
How calm the solitude appears,
How sweet the mem'ry of the dead.
That heals the heart as soon as shed;
Heav'n to a spot unseen for years
In mercy hath my footsteps led;
How calm the solitude appears,
How sweet the mem'ry of the dead.
335
My Sire, ere winter's chilling frost
Thy debt was paid—the last and least—
The day I mourn'd a Father lost,
Was I enthrall'd, and thou releas'd;
Thou safe in port, I tempest-toss'd—
My cares begun, ere childhood ceas'd.
Thy debt was paid—the last and least—
The day I mourn'd a Father lost,
Was I enthrall'd, and thou releas'd;
Thou safe in port, I tempest-toss'd—
My cares begun, ere childhood ceas'd.
And how I plough'd the dang'rous sea
(My bark untravell'd o'er the deep,)
Is only known to Heav'n—and thee,
If guardian angels vigils keep
(Immortal spirits bless'd and free,)
O'er those they lov'd and left to weep.
(My bark untravell'd o'er the deep,)
Is only known to Heav'n—and thee,
If guardian angels vigils keep
(Immortal spirits bless'd and free,)
O'er those they lov'd and left to weep.
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And her who lov'd and mourn'd thee best,
In rev'rend age we weeping bear,
(Long parted) to thy place of rest—
Her hope,—faith, suff'ring, patience, pray'r—
Age, spare my brow (a wearied guest)
Nor plant thy snows and wrinkles there.
In rev'rend age we weeping bear,
(Long parted) to thy place of rest—
Her hope,—faith, suff'ring, patience, pray'r—
Age, spare my brow (a wearied guest)
Nor plant thy snows and wrinkles there.
The palsied frame, the hoary head,
The heart grown selfish, cold, and sear,
More terrors than thy grassy bed
Strike to my soul, lov'd spot! for here
My hop'd-for rest, were breath'd and shed
My latest sigh, my earliest tear.
The heart grown selfish, cold, and sear,
More terrors than thy grassy bed
Strike to my soul, lov'd spot! for here
My hop'd-for rest, were breath'd and shed
My latest sigh, my earliest tear.
| The Modern Dunciad | |