WHEN midnight o'er the darken’d skies
Her pall of transient death had spread,
When mortals sleep, when spectres rise,
And nought is wakeful but the dead:
No shivering ghost my way pursues,
No bloody shape my couch annoys,
Visions more sad my fancy views,
Visions of long departed joys!
The shade of youthful hope is there,
That linger'd long, and latest dy'd;
Ambition, all dissolv'd to air,
With phantom honours at her side.
What empty shadows glimmer nigh?
They once were friendship, truth, and love;
Oh! die to thought, to mem'ry die,
Since lifeless to my heart ye prove.
You bid me sing the song you love,
I hear, and wake the favour'd lay;
For Laura's lips no wish can move,
But I am blest when I obey.
Yet while you bend the strain to hear,
My fancy flies on wayward wing,
And turns to him, the poet dear,
Who form'd the song you bid me sing.
Dear to my heart for ever be
The bard who thus shall melt and charm,
In every age, each maid like thee
To nature just, to genius warm!
But ah! the bard, where is he fled?
Like common forms of vulgar clay;
The shades of night are round him spread,
The bard has liv'd, and pass'd away.
And him, who thus with matchless art
To music gave the poet's rhyme,
Touch'd with new eloquence the heart,
And wak'd to melody sublime,
How vainly would my eyes require,
And seek within the realms of day,
For, like the master of the lyre,
He too has liv'd, and pass'd away.
'Midst Scotia's shadowy glens reclin❜d,
These notes some unknown minstrel fir'd,
Yet where to silent death resign'd,
Rests now the form the muse inspir'd?
No vestige points, to rapture warm,
To grateful awe, the sacred clay;
Alas! while lives the song to charm,
All but the song has pass'd away.
Well, Laura, does that look reveal,
That pensive look, that soften'd eye, How quickly through thine heart can steal The thought refin'd that bids thee sigh. Not at thy will from want, from pain, Exemption kind can genius claim;
And now thou mark'st with sorrow vain
How frail its triumphs and its fame.
Muse on, and mourn, thou gen'rous maid, Ah! mourn for man thus doom'd to view
His little labours bloom and fade,
An hour destroy-an hour renew.
Vain humbled mau! must ev'ry pride,
All thy fond glories feel decay?
Must ev'ry boast, if once ally'd
To thee, but live to pass away?
Vain humbled man! as transient flies
All that thy reas'ning mind rever'd ;
In some lov'd maid thus sinks and dies
All to thy inmost soul rever'd.
Oh, Laura! haste thee to my breast!
Come, all thy life, thy love convey;
Oh! closer to my heart be prest→→→
Dost thou too live-to pass away?
REST, rest, dear babe! in balmy sleep reposing,
No care, no sorrow moves thy tranquil breast;
Rest, till the dawn thy gentle eyes unclosing
Shall wake that smile in which alone I'm blest.
Hush thee, sweet babe! let nought disturb thy slumbers, Thy mother fondly o'er thy cradle hung,
Thus frames for thee the soothing fav'rite numbers, For thee her vigils thus beguiles with song.
Alas! my child, for thee no father's bosom
Throbs to soft sympathy and fond alarm ;
No shelt'ring arm protects thy tender blossom,
And screens its weakness from life's gath'ring storm.
In vain with tears and suppliant accents blended,
His infant seeks its sacred rights to claim;
Tho' truth and honour for those claims contended,
Honour and truth-to him—are but a name.
Vainly to him this faithful heart appealing,
Which passion's tend'rest, truest flame still warms, Urges those oft-pledg'd vows, each gen'rous feeling, Tho' now forgot-which gave me to his arms.
How can he thus forego the soft relations
That bind with mutual ties his soul to me,
How can he lose those ever-dear sensations
Which swell to rapture as I gaze on thee?
Oft o'er thy lovely form while pensive musing,
His smile, his features, with delight I trace,
Each painful thought in melting fondness losing,
I clasp his image in my child's embrace.
O may that pow'r who hears my sad lamenting,
And guards my nursling with a parent's eye,
Restore his heart, at nature's voice relenting,
To faith's firm bonds, and love's forgiving sigh.
Sleep on, dear babe! no thoughts like these oppress thee,
Mild innocence thy peaceful temples crowns;
No anxious doubts, no keen regrets distress thee,
No brooding care around thy cradle frowns.
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