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Seven years, alas, to have received
No tidings of an only child;

To have despair'd, and have believ'd,
And be for evermore beguil❜d;

Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!

I catch at them, and then I miss

Was ever darkness like to this?

He was among the prime in worth,

An object beauteous to behold;

Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:

If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were not base;
And never blush was on my face.

Ah! little doth the Young One dream,
When full of play and childish cares,

What power hath even his wildest scream,
Heard by his Mother unawares!

He knows it not, he cannot guess:
Years to a Mother bring distress;

But do not make her love the less.

Neglect me! no I suffer'd long
From that ill thought; and being blind,
Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong;
Kind mother have I been, as kind

As ever breathed:" and that is true;
I've wet my path with tears like dew,
Weeping for him when no one knew.

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor,
Hopeless of honour and of gain,
Oh! do not dread thy mother's door;
Think not of me with grief and pain :
I now can see with better eyes;
And worldly grandeur I despise,
And fortune with her gifts and lies.

Alas! the fowls of Heaven have wings,
And blasts of Heaven will aid their flight;
They mount, how short a voyage brings
The Wanderers back to their delight!
Chains tie us down by land and sea;
And wishes, vain as mine, may be
All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,
Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men;
Or thou upon a Desart thrown
Inheritest the Lion's Den ;

Or hast been summoned to the Deep,
Thou, Thou and all thy mates, to keep
An incommunicable sleep.

I look for Ghosts; but none will force


way to me; 'tis falsely said

That there was ever intercourse

Betwixt the living and the dead;

For, surely, then I should have sight Of Him I wait for day and night, With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass;
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass :
question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

Beyond participation lie

My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come to me, my Son, or send
Some tidings that my woes may end;
I have no other earthly friend.

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That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby show!

See the Kitten on the Wall,

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

Wither'd leaves, one, two, and three,

From the lofty Elder-tree!

Through the calm and frosty air

Of this morning bright and fair,

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