WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER. 1793. THERE, in that bed so closely curtained round, He stirs yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise; Nor fly, till morning thro' the shutter streams, * WELL may you sit within, and, fond of grief, On the death of a younger sister. Changed is that lovely countenance, which shed Light when she spoke; and kindled sweet surprise, As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread, Played round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes. Those lips so pure, that moved but to persuade, Yet has she fled the life of bliss below, And now in joy she dwells, in glory moves! ON thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers As on she moves with hesitating grace, Smiles thro' her blushes and confirms the choice. Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame! At each response the sacred rite requires, O'er her fair face what wild emotions play! Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought! Gild the calm current of domestic hours! |