And, while that face renews my filial grief, A momentary dream, that thou art she. My mother! when I learned that thou waft dead, Say, wast thou confcious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy fpirit o'er thy forrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if fouls can weep in blissAh that maternal fmile! it anfwers-Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse, that bore thee flow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long figh, and wept a last adieu! But was it fuch?-It was.- -Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a found unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, And, disappointed ftill, was ftill deceived. By disappointment every day beguiled, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short lived poffeffion! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes lefs deeply traced. Thy nightly vifits to my chamber made, That thou mightest know me safe and warmly laid; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they fhone and glowed: All this, and more endearing ftill than all, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jeffamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou waft happier than myself the while, Wouldft foftly speak, and ftroke my head and fmile) Could those few pleasant hours again appear, Might one with bring them, would I wish them here? I would not truft my heart-the dear delight VOL. II. That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coaft fhore, " Where tempefts never beat nor billows roar *," Garth, My boaft is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; And, while the wings of fancy still are free, |