Placed in the mild domestic sphere, When woman would be learn'd or great, ODE TO PATIENCE. BY G. W. O. ESQ. OF BALTIMORE. NYMPH of ever-placid mién! Oh! now regardless of thy spell, Full many a heart, by sorrow tri'd, And soothes to soft repose. Yet, ah! upon thy steps no less How oft they point the pois'nous dart, With hands compos'd, and halcyon brow, Tho' ne'er invok'd before, thy aid And teach me how, with rising thought, TO A MOTHER, ON THE ABSENCE OF HER DAUGHTER. BY A GENTLEMAN OF PHILADELPHIA. OH! wherefore should those trembling tears, And brought the peaceful olive home. So she, whose absence now ye mourn, Then, as the new-born rainbow stream'd To tell the wanderers redeem'd From floods, that floods no more should rise. So she, when safe within thy arms, With sweetest smiles her lips shall dress, To quiet all thy heart's alarms, And bid thy tears for ever cease! EPITAPH ON MRS. MASON. TAKE, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear, Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave! To Bristol's fount I bore, with trembling care, Her faded form-she bow'd to taste the wave And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line, Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dear Maria! breathe a strain divine; Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm, Bid them be chaste, be innocent like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move, And if as fair, from vanity as free, As firm in friendship, and as kind in love. Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die, ('Twas ev'n to thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids "the pure in heart behold their God." EPITAPH BY LORD PALMERSTONE, ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE. WHOE'ER like me, with trembling anguish . His heart's whole treasure to fair Bristol's springs; Let the sad mourner know his pangs were mine. Framed every tie that binds the soul. to prove But yet remembering that the parting sigh, FROM LORD LITTLETON'S MONODY, TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY. YE tufted groves, ye gentle falling rills, Ye lawns gay smiling with eternal green, But never shall ye now behold her more; And taste refin'd, your rural charms explore: Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night! In vain I look around, O'er all the well known ground, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry; Where oft in tender talk, We saw the summer sun go down the sky. Nor where its waters glide, Along the valley can she now be found, Can ought of her espy, But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie. Sweet babes, who like the little playful fawns, Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns, By your delighted mother's side, Who now your infant steps shall guide? |