—Earth, pitying earth, her new-born son beholds,
Spreads a soft shelter, in her robe enfolds,
Still, like a mother kind, her love retains,
Cheers by her cordials, with her food sustains,
Paints brilliant flowers to wake his infant smile,
Spreads fragrant fruits to cheer his hour of toil,
Renews her prospects versatile and gay,
To charm his eye and cheat his cares away,—
And if her roseate buds a thorn conceal,
If some sharp sting the roving hand should feel,
A medicine kind, the sweet physician sends,
And where her poisons wound, her balm defends.
—But when at last, her drooping charge declines,
When the frail lamp of life no longer shines,
When o'er its broken idol friendship mourns,
And love, in horror, from its object turns,
Forsakes the loathsome corse and shuddering, grieves,
She, to her arms, her mouldering son receives,
Murmurs in requiem o'er her darling birth,
"Return thou loved one, to thy parent earth:"—
Safe in her bosom the deposite keeps,
Until the flame that dries the watery deeps,
Spreads o'er the parching skies a quenchless blaze,
Her features reddens, on her vitals preys,
Then struggling in her last convulsive throes,
She wakes her treasure from his deep repose,
Stays her last groan amid dissolving fires
Resigns him to his Maker, and expires.
