Shall steep me in Elyfian reverie,

A momentary dream, that thou art she.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou waft dead, Say, waft thou confcious of the tears I fhed? Hover'd thy fpirit o'er thy forrowing fon, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'ft me, though unfeen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if fouls can weep in blifsAh that maternal fmile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I faw the hearfe that bore thee flow away, And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew A long, long figh, and wept a laft 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, The parting found fhall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of a quick return. What ardently I wifh'd, I long believ'd, And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd; By disappointment every day beguil'd, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a fad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my ftock of infant forrows spent, I learn'd at laft fubmiffion to my lot, But, though I lefs deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs❜ry floor; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to fchool along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In fcarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Short-liv'd poffeffion! but the record fair, That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm that has effac'd A thousand other themes lefs deeply trac' Thy nightly vifits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me fafe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,

The bifcuit or confectionary plum;

The fragrant waters on my

cheeks bestow'd,

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd:
All this, and, more endearing still than all,
Thy conftant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughen'd by thofe cataracts and breaks
That humour interpos'd too often makes ;
All this ftill legible in mem'ry's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;

Perhaps a frail memorial, but fincere,

Not fcorn'd in heaven, though little notic'd here.
Could time, his flight revers'd, reftore the hours.
When playing with thy vefture's tiffued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jaffamine,

I prick'd them into paper with a pin,

(And thou waft happier than myself the while,
Would'ft foftly speak, and ftroke my head and fmile)
Could thofe few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one with bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems fo to be defir'd, perhaps I might.-
But no-what here we call our life is fuch,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound fpirit into bonds again.


Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coaft
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cros'd)
Shoots into port at fome well-haven'd isle,
Where fpices breathe and brighter feafons fmile,
There fits quiefcent on the floods that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incenfe play
Around her, fanning light her ftreamers gay;

So thou, with fails how swift! haft reach'd the shore "Where tempefts never beat nor billows roar*,



* Garth.

And thy lov'd confort on the dang'rous tide
Of life, long fince, has anchor'd at thy fide.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distrefs’d—
Me howling winds drive devious, tempeft tofs'd,
Sails ript, feams op'ning wide, and compass loft,
And day by day fome current's thwarting force
Sets me more diftant from a profperous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boaft is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretenfions rife-
The fon of parents pafs'd into the skies.

And now, farewell-time, unrevok'd, has run
His wonted courfe, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplations help, not fought in vain,
I feem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the fin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of fancy ftill are free,
And I can view this mimic fhew of thee,
Time has but half fucceeded in his theft-

Thyfelf removed, thy power to foothe me left.






JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's fpoufe faid to her dear
Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have feen.

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