186 CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 



Yet many a dream hath charm'd my youthful eye ! 



And must life's fairy visions all depart ? 



Oh, surely no ! for all that fired my heart 

 To rapture here, shall live with me on high. 



And that fair form that won my earliest vow, 

 That my young spirit prized all else above, 

 And now adored as freedom, now as love, 

 Stands in seraphic guise before me now : 

 And as my wav'ring senses fade away, 

 It beckons me on high, to realms of endless day ! 



A MOTHER'S WISH. 



Sweet smiling cherub ! if for thee 



Indulgent Heaven would grant my prayer, 

 And might the threads of destiny 



Be woven by maternal care 

 No golden wishes there should twine, 



If thy life's web was wrought by me ; 

 Calm, peaceful pleasures should be thine, 



From grandeur and ambition free ! 



I would not ask for courtly grace 



Around thy polish'd limbs to play, 

 Nor Beauty's smile to deck thy face, 



Given but to lead some heart astray. 

 I would not ask the wreath of Fame 



Around thy youthful brow to twine ; 

 Nor that the Statesman's envied name, 



And tinsell'd honours, should be thine ! 



Ne'er may War's crimson'd laurels bloom, 



To crown thee with a hero's wreath 

 Like roses smiling o'er a tomb, 



Horror and death lie hid beneath. 

 Nor yet be thine his feverish life, 



On whom the fatal Muses smile ; 

 The Poet, like the Indian wife, 



Oft lights his own funereal pile ! 



