Characters from Life Part 2

A Dierge to THE MEMORY OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

Britons wept when they heard brave Nelson was wounded, Cried aloud when they knew that a ball pierced his heart; Yet it eas'd our distress to find him surrounded, By those friends he loved, when compell'd to depart.

He requested to know the fate of the battle, If t'was likely that England would conquor that day; When they answer'd him Sir, by the weight of our metal, More colours are struck and the reat in dismay.

Now Britons again feel a painful sensation, For the loss of a Princess, beloved by us all; There ne'er was a Lady fill'd better her station; Yet Grim Death with his mandate alike strikes the ball.

Neither Princes, or Kings, can induce him to tarry, Away from the object he's order'd to strike; To the aged, or young, to the giddy, or merry.

He darts out his arrows and wounds them alike.

Scarce had Providence made our lov'd Princess a mother, When G.o.d thought it fit to call her above, To taste of those joys rolling time cannot smother, And share of those blessings that flows from his love,

To protect and to cherish the aged and helpless, Her purse would be drawn, and its comforts expend; When any misfortune were known for to hard press, She'd find out the object and would them befriend.

Well may Brittons mourn, for tho' in high station, To enliven fair Commerce was always her care, Her loss will be felt a long time by the Nation; And sincere is the tear that is shed o'er her Bier.

Her donations were such as noted the sorrow, She felt for the poor that were heard in distress; And used for to say, I'll a.s.sist them to morrow, And try all my aid many cares to make less.

To England she's left an example for others, Which I hope will be copied till time is no more; May all foreign nations, regard us as brothers, And a free commerce gladden old Albion's Sh.o.r.e.

_TO THE MEMORY_ OF AN AFFECTIONATE PARENT.

My pen can not describe or tears convey, The pains I felt when late I bade farewell; I view'd in death's embrace a parent lay, And heard the pa.s.sing of the mournful bell.

Nine Month's disease its ravages had made.

E'er death reliev'd her from all sufferings here; I saw the s.e.xton with his Iron spade, Mark out the spot, and place the gloomy bier.

Affecting scene! while recollection last, I'll trace the parting of our sad adieu; Dwell on those scenes that are for ever past, Tho' in my mind it troubles fresh renew

Just before death had wield the fatel blow, That stops the power of utterance or sigh; She with a voice angelic soft and low, Cried, Lord! forgive me e'er my spirit fly.

Oft have I seen my virtuous parent stray, O'er her lov'd garden pensive and forlorn; To cull the flowers each succeeding day, And view the beauties of a summer's morn.

Scarce did a flower adorn the spot around, But her hand planted in its proper place; No fonder lover of those sweets were found, While she their beauties in her mind could trace.

Three days before her sufferings were o'er, She craved a.s.sistance to her favourite spot; And said my roses I shall see no more, And when I'm absent they will be forgot.

But for her sake a faithful servant toil, To free the flowers from weeds from morn till night; Or bring fresh water to the thirsty soil, To that lov'd spot that gave her oft delight.

Antic.i.p.ation to the panting heart, Convey'd the dread decree of fate's ordain; To say she must from earthly scenes depart, And not to them for ever turn again.

Meekness thro' life had marked her for her care, While resignation claim'd her for her own; Sometimes her mind wou'd cheerful still appear, And strive to stifle pain's afflicting groan.

Oh G.o.d! she cried, thy mercy let me crave, Till life's short span is taken quite away; Then may I rest at peace within the grave, To wait thy summons for the awful day.

Scarce had religion brought sweet hope to aid The virtuous victim in the pangs of death; When soft a guardian angel gently said, You'll dwell with me when time extinguish breath.

A few short struggles and the scene was o'er, Death with his victim flew above the skies; I shall thro' life her absence oft deplore, Till recollection from my memory flies.

The humble cottagers their Mistress bore, To her cold home each face bedew'd with tears; She to her mansion to return no more, For death has silenc'd all her hopes and fears.

Oh! had you seen my good and worthy sire, In sorrow's garment his last duty pay; To her whose virtues did esteem acquire, Or ease the troubles of a luckless day.

Two sorrowing sons increas'd the gloomy day.

Who will while life remain her loss deplore; Till recollection from them fade away, Or erring Mortals here do sin no more.

Each little Mourner drop'd affection's tear, When dust on dust the coffin hid from view; Their youthful sighs denoted their despair, When they to Grandma' bid a long adieu.

_ALBERT TO HANNAH_.

I've read your letter o'er and o'er again, Happy to find you faithful do remain, Besides forgiveness; though too much I fear, I long have made you victim to despair.

You say two years with fervency I strove To keep affection, constancy, and love; But soon as crosses came upon my mind, Was careless of you and appear'd unkind.

I know my home was neat serene and nice; But, ah! that home I lost, allured by vice.

Soon as you fled, a different scene in view, Gone all attention soon as I lost you.

The quick retort was always in my ears, You've drown'd a virtuous wife in sorrow's tears.

Soon as I found all hopes to meet you fled, I pray'd I might be numbered with the dead: Oblivion's aid I oft invoked by drink, I could not meditate nor dared to think.

You say it cost you tears to write to me, But they'll disperse when you a convert see.

Long I've invok'd a pardon from above, To make me worthy of the wife I love: Return, and till my days are at an end, I'll prove protector, guardian, and a friend.

The converse delicate; the smile sincere, Will check the sigh, and stop the rising tear; Cheerful as formerly we'll pa.s.s our life, A happy husband I, and you the wife.

ON THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON.

The fleet of haughty France and Spain, No more will triumph on the main, Though Nelson is no more: Our hero's blood was dearly bought; To conquer them he bravely fought, And died in vict'ry's arms.

'We'll avenge his death,' the seamen cry, 'We'll fight, we'll conquer, or we'll die, And will their force deride: Our little ones shall lisp his name, And to acquire a Nelson's fame, Will ever be their pride.'

Before cold death had closed his eyes, Cover'd with wounds, the hero cries, 'Is victory our own?'

'We've conquer'd,' cried the valiant crew, He smiling bade them all adieu, And died without a groan.

Yet, e'er he died, he did require, How many ships were then on fire, And others that had struck: Well pleased the hero then was seen, When told the number was fifteen; For England was his care.