To the sad mother, who, in speechless grief,
Mourn'd o'er her infant's unprotected state,
Benignant charity affords relief,
And bids her bosom glow, with joy elate.
Great your reward who thus impassion'd move,
By nature taught the heart's persuasive play;
Such deeds your God with pleasure shall approve,
And endless blessings cheer your parting day.
What better boon can feeling hearts bestow,
What nobler ornament can deck our isle;
Than one that robs the wretched of their woe,
And makes the widow and the orphan smile?
[*Footnote: A Society, established by Voluntary
Contributions, for the Support and Education of the
Children of the Sailors and Marines, who have fallen
during the War.]
ROSA'S GRAVE.
Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies,
And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed,
When dew-drops leave the weeping skies,
His tenderest tear of pity shed.
And sacred shall the willow be,
That shades the spot where virtue sleeps;
And mournful memory weep to see
The hallow'd watch affection keeps.
Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart
Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease;
Soon from his woes the suff'rer part,
And hail thee at the Throne of Peace!
LINES,
WRITTEN IN HORNSEY WOOD.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47