Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy "Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy: No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall sooth his aching heart for all the past- And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. "And say, when summon'd from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree, Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, And sooth my parted spirit lingering near? So speaks affection, ere the infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply; But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim A mother's ear by that endearing name ; Soon as the playful innocent can prove A tear of pity, or a smile of love, Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care, Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer, Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear The mournful ballad warbled in his ear; At every artless tear, and every smile! The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. |