ful image strikes my wand'ring eye;
Sad, near thy silent strings, I sit and sigh.
Cold is that band which Music form'd her own,
When ev'ry chord resign'd its sweetest tone.
Ah! long, fair source of rapture, shall thou rest,
Silent and sad, neglected and unprest,
'Till years, lov'd shade! superior pow'rs resign,
Or raise one note more eloquent than thine.
Tho' with'ring Sickness mark'd thee in the womb,
And form'd thy cradle but to form thy tomb,
Yet, like a flow'r, she bade thee reach thy prime,
The fairer victim for the stroke of Time.
When fond Invention vainly sought thine ease,
The wave salubrious and the morning breeze,--
When even Sleep, sweet Sleep! refus'd thy call,
Sleep! that with sweet refreshment smiles on all,--
When, till the morn, thine eyes, unclos'd and damp,
Trac'd thy sad semblance in the glimm'ring lamp,--
When from thy face Health's latest relic fled,
Where Hope might flatter, with reluctant tread,--
Still, darting forward from the weight of woe,
Thy soul with all its energy would glow;
Still with the purest passion wouldst thou prove
The glow of friendship and the warmth of love.
And ah! to sacred Memory ever nigh,
Thy wit and humour claim the passing sigh:
When, thro' the hour, with unresisted skill,
I've seen thee mould each feature to thy will,--
When friends drew round thee with attentive ear,
Pleas'd with the raill'ry which they could not fear.
Oh! how I've heard thee, with concealing art,
Join in the song, tho' sorrow rent thy heart;
How have I seen thee too, with venial guile,
O'er many an anguish force the faithless smile,--
Seen suffering Nature check each sigh, each fear,
To rob maternal fondness of a tear!
Alas! those scenes are past!--Vain was the pray'r
That ask'd of Fate to soften and to spare;
Ah! vain, if wit and virtue could not save
Thy youthful honours from an early grave.
But yet, if here my warm fraternal love
May claim alliance with the realms above;
If kindred Nature, with perpetual bloom,
Transplanted springs, and lives beyond the tomb;
Thy pitying soul shall smile upon my grief,
Shall feel a pang that wishes not relief;
In visions still shall shield me as I go,
Along this gloomy wilderness of woe;
Shall still regard me with peculiar pride,
On earth my brother, and in heav'n my guide!
Methinks I see thee reach th' empyrean shore,
And heav'n's full chorus hails one angel more;
While 'mid the seraph-forms that round thee fly,
Thy father meets thee with ecstatic