Clings to her shoulder, were it meet,
Seems wishing to embrace her feet;
Like one impatient to implore,
Who dreads the time is nearly o'er,
To ask or to receive a boon,
Which must be known and granted soon.
A boon with life itself entwin'd,
One that her lips refus'd to name,
However oft the impulse came.
Such was the picture--but her mind
Forgetting self--could not arise,
To look in those unconscious eyes!
The zeal that prompted, were she free
To serve her friend on bended knee,
Shrunk from the orphan's gaze, just hurl'd,
Lonely and poor upon the world--
Unknowing yet her loss, endeared,
By its excess, and therefore fear'd!
Thus has it ever seem'd to me,
That Pity made a Deity
Of Mortal Suffering--that her ray
Melted all blame, all scorn away!
That when her arms the dying fold,
When her pure hands the loathsome hold,
Disgust and Dread, their power forego,
The Aegis drops from Human Woe,
Whose false and cruel glare alone
Turned other living hearts to stone.
XXVI.
ELEGY ON EDWARD BETHAM,
_Lost in the Duchess of Gordon East Indiaman, off the Cape of Good
Hope_.
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Lovely as are the wide and sudden calms
Upon a lake, when all the waters rise,
To smooth each undulation, and present
A plain of molten silver--is the hope,
Dear Edward, of thy safety--which now comes
To fill, expand, and elevate my heart--
String every nerve, and give to every vein,
A warmer and a sweeter sense of life!
Welcome, oh! welcome, that most healing hope,
Pouring abroad an efficacious ray
Into the aching bosom!--Tidings sweet
Those of such prompt return, with wisdom gain'd
By suffering, but with all thy innocence,
All thy accustomed gaiety of heart,
And all thy deep, quick sensibilities!
Those gems of virtue, which concentre still
In narrow limits, stores of moral wealth
Beyond all estimate--whose value known,
The dealer sells his other merchandize;
His ivory and curious workmanship,
The silkworm's product and the cloth of gold,
To purchase that imperishable store,
More highly prized than all!--Possessing all
The properties, most precious of the rest,
In a superior measure and degree,
Without alloy, sparkling with inward light!
Unseen, untraced the process of his growth!--
No aid from any human hand or care!---
No nourishment from any earthly dews!
No ripening from our bright, material sun!
But secretly supplied by Providence
With some more pure, diviner aliment,
And with more heavenly, searching radiance fill'd;
For the superior comfort, higher bliss
Of that in-drinking eye the soul of man!
Thus sang I, when fallacious hopes were rais'd
Of his dear safety--whom, howe'er belov'd--
However strong in health, and firmly built
Like a fine statue of the antique world,
As if he might have reach'd a century
Without decrepitude, we ne'er again--
Nor we alone, no other human eye--
Can e'er behold! Then had I painted him
Returning, as he lately left our shores,
With all the fairness and the bloom of youth--
The light brown hair, and its soft yellow gleams,
Brightened with silver; thickening into shade,
Now with a dove-like, now a chesnut hue!
The smile of Peace and Love and joyful Hope!
And those blue eyes, through whose dark lash the soul,
Rejoicing, from its kind and happy home,
Look'd forth with rapture, artless, and uncheck'd!
Eyes, where Delight in careless luxury
Lay nestling and indulging blissful thoughts;
With every day-dream, for whose food the world
Offers magnificence and loveliness;
All graceful motions, and all graceful forms.
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