Poems (1828) | Page 8

faithless love,?Or fancied splendour, lead thy steps astray;?No cares becloud the sunshine of thy day,?Nor want e'er urge thee from thy cot to rove.?What though thy station dooms thee to be poor,?And by the hard-earn'd morsel thou art fed;?Yet sweet content bedecks thy lowly bed,?And health and peace sit smiling at thy door:?Of these possess'd--thou hast a gracious meed,?Which Heaven's high wisdom gives, to make thee rich indeed!
ON THE DEATH OF DR. ABEL,[1]
Physician and Naturalist to Lord Amherst, Governor General of India, who died at Cawnpoor, 24th of November, 1826.
Another awful warning voice of death?To human dignity, and human pride;?'Tis sad, to mark how short the longest life--?How brief was thine! Thy day is done,?And all its complicated hopes and fears?Lie buried, ABEL! in an early grave.?The unavailing tear for thee shall flow,?And love and friendship faithful record keep?Of all thy varied worth, thy anxious strife?For fame and years, now gone for ever!?Yet o'er thy tomb science and learning?Bend in mute regret, and truth proclaims?Thy just inheritance an honour'd name!
Lamented most by those who knew thee best,?Accept this humble, tributary lay,?From one, who in thy boyhood and thy prime?Had shared thy friendship, and had fondly hoped?When last we parted, many years were thine?And joys in store--that thy elastic mind?Might long have gladden'd life's monotony.?Thine was a princely heart, a joyous soul,?The charm of reason, and the sprightly wit?Which kept dull letter'd ignorance in awe,?Shook the pretender on his tinsel throne,?And claim'd the glorious dignity of mind!
Alas! that in thy prime, when time began?To make thee nearly all the World could wish,?The spoiler Death should unrelenting come?(As though in envy of thy wondrous skill)?And stop the fountain of a noble heart.
Rest, anxious spirit! from life's feverish dream,?From all its sad realities and cares:?Be this thy Epitaph, thy honour'd boast--?Thine was the fame, which thine own mind achieved!
[Footnote 1: Dr. Abel was greatly distinguished in his profession for his love of it, and for the ardour of his pursuits in useful knowledge. --He published many ingenious Papers on Medical Science and Natural History. His account of the Embassy to China, under Lord Amherst, has been generally admired. He practised with increasing respect as a Physician, at Brighton, previous to his leaving England for India; and meditated (as the Author of this article knows) one or two works, which, from the activity of his mind, may yet be anticipated. Dr. Abel was a native of Bungay, in Suffolk (where his father was a banker), and it is supposed was about 35 years of age when he died. It is worthy of remark, that the present eminent and estimable Dr. Gooch, Librarian to His Majesty, and Dr. Abel, should both have been pupils of Mr. Borrett, Surgeon, of Yarmouth.]
SONNET.
NIGHT.
Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,?See want and infamy, as forth they come,?Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,?To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread.?Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek?And half-clad form, what havoc want hath made;?And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,?And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak.?O! miserable state! compell'd to wear?The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast?Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd;?Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear!?Oh! GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside,?And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.
CONSTANCY.
TO----.
Dearest love! when thy God shall recall thee,?Be this record inscribed on thy tomb:?Truth, and gratitude, well may applaud thee,?And all thy past virtues relume.
It shall tell--to thy sex's proud honour,?Of sufferings and trials severe,?While still, through protracted affliction,?Not a murmur escaped; but the tear
Of resignment to Heaven's high dictates,?'Twas thine, like a martyr, to shed:?That heart--all affection for others--?For thyself, uncomplainingly, bled.
Midst the storms, which misfortune had gather'd,?What an angel thou wert unto me;?In that hour, when all friendship seem'd sever'd,?Thou didst bloom like the ever-green tree!
All was gloom; and in vain had I striven,?For hope ceased a ray to impart;?When thou cam'st, like a meteor from heaven,?And gave peace to my desolate heart!
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
Give me the wreath of friendship true,?Whose flowerets fade not in a breath:?From memory gaining many a hue,?To bloom beyond the touch of death.
And I will send it to thy home--?Thy home beloved, my faithful friend!?And pray for its perpetual bloom?And every bliss that earth can send.
Within its magic wreath I'd place?Hearts'-ease and every lovely flower;?To win thee by their matchless grace,?And cheer and bless the lonely hour.
When at the world's unkind return?Of all thy worth, and all thy care,?Thou may'st in spite of manhood turn,?And shed the sad, the bitter, tear.
Then, midst this holy grief of thine,?The thought of some true friend may bless,?And cheer the gloom like angel's smile,?Or sunbeam in a wilderness.
And could I hope I had a claim?On thee in such a rapturous hour??Oh! that, indeed, I'd