Oh! Born to sooth distress, and lighten care;
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair;
Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
So rarely found, and never to be taught;
Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind,
The loveliest pattern of a female mind;
Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest
With all her native heaven within her breast;
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin, But thinks the world without like that within;
Such melting tenderness, so fond to bless,
Her charity almost becomes excess.
Wealth may be courted, wisdom be rever'd,
And beauty prais'd, and brutal strength be fear'd;
But goodness only can affection move;
And love must owe its origin to love. Of gentle manners, and of taste refin'd,
With all the graces of a polish'd mind;
Clear sense and truth still shone in all she spoke, And from her lips no idle sentence broke.
Each nicer elegance of art she knew;
Correctly fair, and regularly true:
Her ready fingers plied with equal skill
The pencil's task, the needle, or the quill.
So pois'd her feelings, so compos'd her soul,
So subject all to reason's calm control,
One only passion, strong, and unconfin'd,
Disturb'd the balance of her even mind:
One passion rul'd despotic in her breast,
In every word, and look, and thought confest;
But that was love, and love delights to bless
The generous transports of a fond excess. * * * Happy old man! Who stretched beneath the shade
Of large grown trees, or in the rustic porch
With woodbine canopied, where linger yet
The hospitable virtues, calm enjoy'st
Nature's best blessings all; --a healthful age
Ruddy and vigorous, native cheerfulness,
Plain-hearted friendship, simple piety,
The rural manners and the rural joys
Friendly to life. O rude of speech, yet rich
In genuine worth, not unobserved shall pass
They bashful virtues! For the Muse shall mark,
Detect thy charities, and call to light
Thy secret deeds of mercy; while the poor,
The desolate and friendless, at the gate,
A numerous family, with better praise
Shall hallow in their hearts thy spotless name. * * * Such were the dames of old heroic days,
Which faithful story yet delights to praise;
Who, great in useful works, hung o'er the loom--
The mighty mothers of immortal Rome:
Obscure, in sober dignity retired,
They more deserved than sought to be admired;
The household virtues o'er their honoured head
Their simple grace and modest lustre shed:
Chaste their attire, their feet unused to roam,
They loved the sacred threshold of their home;
Yet true to glory, fanned the generous flame,
Bade lovers, brothers, sons aspire to fame;
In the young bosom cherished Virtue's seed,
The secret springs of many a godlike deed.
So the fair stream in some sequestered glade
With lowly state glides silent through the shade;
Yet by the smiling meads her urn is blest,
With freshest flowers her rising banks are drest,
And groves of laurel, by her sweetness fed,
High o'er the forest lift their verdant head. * * * Is there whom genius and whom taste adorn
With rare but happy union; in whose breast
Calm, philosophic, thoughtful, largely fraught
With stores of various knowledge, dwell the powers
That trace out secret causes, and unveil
Great Nature's awful face? Is there whose hours
Of still domestic leisure breathe the soul
Of friendship, peace, and elegant delight
Beneath poetic shades, where leads the Muse
Through walks of fragrance, and the fairy groves
Where young ideas blossom?--Is there one
Whose tender hand, lenient of human woes,
Wards off the dart of death, and smooths the couch
Of torturing anguish? On so dear a name
May blessings dwell, honour, and cordial praise;
Nor need he be a brother to be loved. * * * Champion of Truth, alike through Nature's field,
And where in sacred leaves she shines reveal'd--
Alike in both, eccentric, piercing, bold,
Like his own lightnings, which no chains can hold;
Neglecting caution, and disdaining art,
He seeks no armour for a naked heart: --
Pursue the track thy ardent genius shows,
That like the sun illumines where it goes;
Travel the various map of Science o'er,
Record past wonders, and discover more;
Pour thy free spirit o'er the breathing page,
And wake the virtue of a careless age.
But O forgive, if touched with fond regret
Fancy recalls the scenes she can't forget,
Recalls the vacant smile, the social hours
Which charmed us once, for once those scenes were ours!
And while thy praises through wide realms extend,
We sit in shades, and mourn the absent friend.
So where the' impetuous river sweeps the plain,
Itself a sea, and rushes to the main;
While its firm banks repel conflicting tides,
And stately on its breast the vessel glides;
Admiring much the shepherd stands to gaze,
Awe-struck, and mingling wonder with his praise:
Yet more he loves its winding path to trace
Through beds of flowers, and Nature's rural face,
While yet a stream the silent vale it cheered,
By many a recollected scene endeared,
Where trembling first beneath the poplar shade
He tuned his pipe, to suit the wild cascade.