Retirement, friendship, leisure, learned ease,
All that the philosophic mind can please;
All that the Muses love, th' harmonious nine,
Inspire thy lays, and aid the great design.
But more than all the world could else bestow,
All pleasures that from fame or fortune flow,
To fix secure in bliss thy future life,
Heaven crowned thy blessings with a lovely wife—
Wise, gentle, good, with every grace combined
That charms the sense or captivates the mind;
Skilled every soft emotion to improve,
The joy of friendship, and the wish of love;
To soothe the heart which pale Misfortune's train
Invades with grief or agonizing pain;
To point through devious paths the narrow road
That leads the soul to virtue or to God.
O friend! O sister! to my bosom dear
By every tie that binds the soul sincere;
O, while I fondly dwell upon thy name,
Why sinks my soul, unequal to the theme?
But though unskilled thy various worth to praise,
Accept my wishes, and excuse my lays.
May all thy future days, like this, be gay,
And love and fortune blend their kindest ray;
Long in their various gifts mayst thou be blessed,
And late ascend the realms of endless rest.
Among her papers, also, after her decease, was found a pastoral on "Disappointment," which here follows, evidently written during her seclusion in Danvers, with this brief and pathetic letter in stenographic characters:—
"Must I die alone? Shall I never see you more? I know that you will come; but you will come too late. This is, I fear, my last ability. Tears fall so fast I know not how to write. Why did you leave me in such distress? But I will not reproach you. All that was dear I forsook for you, but do not regret it. May God forgive in both what was amiss. When I go from here, I will leave you some way to find me. If I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave?"
The poem, which continues in the same moving strain, is touching and tender, and betrays a heart full of refinement and sensibility.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
With fond impatience, all the tedious day
I sighed, and wished the lingering hours away;
For when bright Hesper led the starry train,
My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain.
With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,
And lingered long, and then in tears withdrew.
Alone, abandoned to love's tenderest woes,
Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;
Dead to all joy that Fortune can bestow,
In vain for me her useless bounties flow.
Take back each envied gift, ye powers divine,
And only let me call Fidelio mine.
Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove!
For thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;
And when Fidelio meets thy tearful eye,
Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly.
With pensive steps I sought thy walks again,
And kissed thy token on the verdant plain;
With fondest hope, through many a blissful hour,
We gave our souls to Fancy's pleasing power.
Lost in the magic of that sweet employ,
To build gay scenes and fashion future joy,
We saw mild Peace over fair Canaan rise, And shower her pleasures from benignant skies. On airy hills our happy mansion rose, Built but for joy—no room for future woes. Round the calm solitude with ceaseless song,
* * * * *
Sweet as the sleep of innocence the day,
By transports measured, lightly danced away;
To love, to bliss, the unioned soul was given,
And—ah, too happy!—asked no brighter heaven.
And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?
Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?
Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?
Is it my doom to hope, despair, and die?
O, come once more, with soft endearments come;
Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;
Through favored walks thy chosen maid attend
Where well-known shades their pleasing branches bend;
Shed the soft poison of thy speaking eye,
And look those raptures lifeless words deny.
Still he, though late, reheard what ne'er could tire,
But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;
Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew,
But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.
Can fancy paint, can words express,
Can aught on earth my woes redress?
E'en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove
Thy truth, thy tenderness, and love.
Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,
Transporting joy and gay desire;
Now cold Despair her banner rears,
And Pleasure flies when she appears;
Fond Hope within my bosom dies,
And Agony her place supplies.
O thou, for whose dear sake I bear
A doom so dreadful, so severe,
May happy fates thy footsteps guide,
And o'er thy peaceful home preside; Nor let E——a's early tomb Infect thee with its baleful gloom.
Still another poem, of more genuine beauty and strength than either of these, has been preserved in her own handwriting, which I doubt not the reader will thank me for introducing here, although it bears more of recrimination than the others.
Thy presents to some happier lover send;
Content thyself to be Lucinda's friend.
The soft expression of thy gay design
Ill suits the sadness of a heart like mine—
A heart like mine, forever doomed to prove
Each tender woe, but not one joy of love.
First from my arms a dying lover torn,
In early life it was my fate to mourn.
A father next, by fate's relentless doom,
With heartfelt woe I followed to the tomb.
Now all was lost; no friends remained to guide
My erring step, or calm life's boisterous tide.
Again th' admiring youths around me bowed;
And one I singled from the sighing crowd.