"Tis her's each lost idea to renew,
And call remotest ages to our view;
Nor o'er the past alone content to roam,
"Tis her's to expatiate in a life to come.
What Reason long might labour to display,
One glance presents to Fancy's piercing ray;
In one full blaze th' ideal scene appears,
Revives our hopes, or wakens all our fears.
Since, then, to Fancy's tow'ring flights we owe
Our knowledge, fame, and happiness below,
O that it still by Reason were confin'd
To ev'ry nobler object of the mind!
O that the dawn of op'ning Truth would rise
To chase all wild chimeras from our eyes,
And teach, that all the mind's mistaken theme,
Our Hopes, our Fears, are madness or a Dream.
UPON THE FAMILY OF HIS PREDECESSOR
REMOVING FROM BARTON *.
Nos dulcia linquimus arva!
YOU, happier Friend, in Barton's rural seat
With sweet Contentment fix your calm retreat;
In the late Pastor's honour'd steps you tread,
And lead the Flock which once my Father led:
While we, forsakers of our native plain,
One aged Parent's feeble steps sustain ;
Content, tho' sad, if yet our pious care
Might mitigate the loss we can't repair!
The Living of Barton-Segrave, near Kettering in Northamptonshire, had been long in the possession of the Rev. JEFFERY EKINS, Father to the Dean of Carlisle: On his death, it was given by the patron, the late Duke of Montagu, to the Rev. JOSHUA STEPHENSON, to whom these lines are address'd.
Farewell! lov'd Plains, where first our childhood stray'd,
Dear scenes, more dear by fond reflection made,
Farewell!in vain your verdant landscapes rise,
Fair lawns in vain salute our parting eyes;
Set is that Sun, whose all-enlivening ray
Cheer'd every scene, and gilt each smiling day!
Taste thou, my Friend, what joy those scenes afford,
Peace guide thy steps, and Plenty crown thy board!
What tho' with pain I fly my natal home,
My soul repines not at thy happier doom,
And tho' the tear of genuine grief will flow,
Regret, not Envy, points the sting of woe.
Wouldst thou the paths of virtuous fame
Still keep my Sire's example in thy view;
open wide thine hospitable door
To a meek, honest, and a grateful Poor;
Spread true Religion's pure, unsullied beam,
Thyself the bright example of thy theme ;
Cherish the seeds a pious hand had sown,
And make my Parent's blessings all thine own!
When thou at length his portion must resign,
When what was his, shall be no longer thine,
May'st thou, like him, life's last sad load sustain,
With mind unshaken in the hour of pain!
Death's call, like him, undaunted may'st thou hear,
And want no Son to mourn thy sacred bier!
ON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST CHILD.
EXHAUSTED by her painful throes,
Let Nature take her due repose;
Sweet, dearest Anna, be thy sleep,
While I my joyful vigils keep!
O! be thy joy sincere as mine,
For sure my pangs have equall'd thine!
Sleep on-and, waking, thou shalt see
All that may sooth thy pains, in me—
Friend, Husband, and (O name most dear)
The Father of thy new-born care,
As thou on her thine eyes shalt cast,
Thank Heav'n for all thy dangers past!
Heav'n for no trivial cause ordains
That joy like this succeeds thy pains;
But, by this sacred pledge, demands
A Parent's duty at thy hands:
Guard thou thy trust; and justly claim
The glory of a Parent's name,
Too well, alas! thy tender heart
Was practis'd in the filial part:
Twice o'er a dying Parent's bed,
Watchful, the pious tear you shed,
And, Angel-like, their pillows prest,
To waft them to eternal rest.
The duties you to them display'd
Be by your grateful Child repaid!
Form well her mind, nor shall your toil
Be wasted on a barren soil;
And while your infant charge you rear,
My love shall lighten every care.
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