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ON THE DEATH OF M* * * * * N* * * * * * *.THE SON OF CAPTAIN N* * * * * * *.
The genial season comes with balmy dews, And western breezes sporting in her train;Deck'd in her flowing robe of rainbow hues, She paints with lavish hand the hill and plain.
Th' unfolding blossoms load the gentle gale With mingling sweets; the sky-lark soars on high,Ere yet the waning moon her crescent pale Hath quite extinguish'd in the kindling sky.
Fair is the promise of the days to come, Th' incumbent harvest soon shall load the groundAnd rising youth in health and strength shall bloom, And smiling hope be with fruition crown'd.
Oh! trust not these—they are deceitful all; The storm may rise, the east wind's chilling breathMay blast thy hopes, and blooming youth may fall, Mid all its vigour, in the arms of death.
E'en prattling childhood while it lisps its joy, And blooms far sweeter than the sweetest flow'r,May drop as thou hast done—oh, beauteous boy! And pain embitter ev'ry ling'ring hour.
