POETRT. 



THE MOURNING MOTHER. 



For the Bee, 



"rom heay'n's wide concave, where serenely niild 

 The eye of mercy beams upon the blest, 



Look down anointed spirit of my child, 

 And view the anguiih of a parent's breast. 



Yet rather turn from misery and woe, 



Thou dearest offspring of connubial love j 



Nor let a mother's wretchcdnefs below. 

 One moment dalh thy happineft above. 



Oh nature ! thou my aching bosoro arm, 

 With force of soul to play my tryieg part; 



Thou who with magic hand hast fix'd the charm, 

 That twists a chiid so strongly round the hear:. 



Dear, lost Elizi'. in thy infant yeirs. 



When sweelnefs lisping prattled o'er its toys. 



One snille of thine would difsipate my fears, 

 And fill my bosom with a thousand joys. 



Thy winning softnefs and thine artlefs truth. 

 The starting tears from misery have stole ) 



Supplied the buried hulband of my youth. 

 The first and last pofsafsiun of my s:)ul. 



Thou wert that all which fortune had bestow'4, 

 T' endear this transient and unreal stagej 



To smooth life's weary and fatiguing road. 

 And chear alike infirmity and age. 



What scenes of fancied pleasure would I trace. 

 Thy little race of prattlers to attend ; 



And pifj the fhort remainder o( my rfa;.'^, 



A grandchild's parent, and i. daughter's friend. 



■Delusive dreams !* return to glad my yeirs j 

 O rise again in all yoar form so fair! 



Dejection no.v for happinefs appears, 

 And grief array'd by solitude anJ care. 



Pardjn ji;s: heav'n ! — But where the heart is tern, 

 The human drop of bitternefi will steil j 



Nor can we lose the privilege to mour.", 

 Till we hive 1 vs: tlie faculty to feel, 



vuL. xi, 1 \ 



