Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears

The days of peace, the sabbath of his years,
Health shall prolong to many a festive hour
The social pleasures of his humble bower.

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-
With many a smile my solitude repay,

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?
Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour to shed
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love, and all my woe?"

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;
How fondly looks admiring HOPE the while,

At every artless tear, and every smile!
How glows the joyous parent to descry
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom,
A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored,
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board;
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow,
And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe.

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.