Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/An Address
AN ADDRESS
FROM A YOUNG PUPIL AT SCHOOL FAR FROM HOME, TO HER COMPANIONS, ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER.
ASK me not why I rise with brow so sad,
Or why I come in sable vestments clad,
For on my lips the painful answer dies,
And secret woes within my bosom rise.
Far, far away I see a distant scene,
Tho' forests rise, and lakes are spread between;
Yet there the sad eye turns, and views with pain
A mourning mansion and a weeping train:
Low o'er a recent grave, the mourners bend,
Where sleeps in dust, the father and the friend.
Cold is that heart which shared in all my joys,
And deaf the ear that lov'd a daughter's voice,
And stiff the hand that dry'd my infant tears,
And lost the guardian of my early years.
Ah! who can tell how many pains and woes
Thrill'd thro' that frame before it found repose.
Yet in those days of grief, I was not near,
To soothe one pang, or one lone hour to cheer;
And when he sunk to rest, I was not by
To catch the last glance of the swimming eye;
Or hear what fond parental love might say,
Ere its last sigh convulsive died away.
Yet oft before my eyes, this scene will glow,
And wake the tho'ts that only wake to woe;
And then it seems as if a distant knell,
Sigh'd on the passing gale—'farewell—farewell.'
And if at griefs like these, the soul should melt,
You will not wonder, who yourselves have felt;
Then ask not why I mourn departed bliss,
No heart is cold to such a claim as this.
Yet not to shade the cheerful face with gloom,
Or draw one tear from youth's fair eye I come:
Ah! no, my friends beloved, companions true,
I rise a mournful monitor to you.
While fragrant flowers your op'ning path array,
And fond paternal love your toils repay;
While from those hands such untold favours flow,
Recount your debt, and muse on what you owe.
The deeds of love, the thousand nameless fears,
That mark'd the progress of your infant years;
The patient hand, forgetful of its toil,
Ev'n though it till'd a cold, or stubborn soil;
The anxious heart that thrill'd with ceaseless pain,
Lest you should make its future presage vain;
The eye that often wak'd, and watch'd, and wept,
While you have wandered, or while you have slept;
The sympathetic joy, the kind intent,
The fervent prayer, the knee in secret bent;
Oh, muse on these along your flowery way,
Then ask your heart, and what hast thou to pay?
Return with anxious care the due reward,
No painful task they claim, no service hard;
With watchful eye, with prompt obedience seek
What the heart dictates e'er the lips can speak;
Still bow your minds to mild instruction's sway,
Nor cast the morning of your lives away;
Still shun the paths of vice, the devious ways,
Where levity allures, and folly strays;
Let sober reason all your actions guide,
And crush the seeds of vanity and pride;
Receive with grateful hand the blessings given,
And raise the thoughtful eye, and heart to heaven,
Be studious and sincere, be meekly wise,
Bound with their hopes your own enjoyment lies:
Fulfil this law of love, this service due,
And soothe those hearts that beat so strong for you.
Then when the hour shall come I now deplore,
When those dear parent guides are yours no more;
And when with filial care, and solemn dread,
Your arm shall pillow the expiring head;
Or when with sad and shrinking heart you stand,
To feel the pressure of the stiffening hand,
Or wipe the death dews from the pallid face,
Or shrinking feel the last and cold embrace,
Then the sad tears that filial love must pay,
The gentle hand of hope shall wipe away;
And mem'ry kind shall spread a spotless page,
Like some broad shield to break affliction's rage;
And through the skies shall gleam to soothe your pain,
This parting signal, "we shall meet again;"
And though weak nature droops opprest with woe,
Firm faith shall raise the spirit bending low,
And on the ear shall pour an heavenly strain,
Of climes remote from care, and loss, and pain,
Where pure and sacred bands, shall ne'er be rent again.