Sounds through the silence of the night alone,- Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be And now the signal gun! Like the high leaves upon the Holly-Tree. TO MARY. MARY! ten checker'd years have past The bloom was then upon thy face; We conversed, were there others by, With common mirth and random eye; But when escaped the sight of men, How serious was our converse then! Our talk was then of years to come, Themes which to loving thoughts might move, At our last meeting sure thy heart Long, Mary! after that adieu, When manhood and its cares came on, Meantime through many a varied year But then, I trust, detraction's lie Ten years have held their course; thus late I learn the tidings of thy fate; A Husband and a Father now, Of thee, a Wife and Mother thou. And, Mary, as for thee I frame A prayer which hath no selfish aim, No happier lot can I wish thee Than such as Heaven hath granted me. London, 1802. TO A FRIEND, INQUIRING IF I WOULD LIVE OVER MY YOUTH AGAIN. 1. Do I regret the past? Would I again live o'er The morning hours of life? Nay, William! nay, not so! |