151
AN ADDRESS
FROM A YOUNG PUPIL AT SCHOOL FAR FROM HOME, TO HER COMPANIONS, ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER.
ASK me not why I rise with brow so sad,
Or why I come in sable vestments clad,
For on my lips the painful answer dies,
And secret woes within my bosom rise.
Far, far away I see a distant scene,
Tho' forests rise, and lakes are spread between;
Yet there the sad eye turns, and views with pain
A mourning mansion and a weeping train:
Low o'er a recent grave, the mourners bend,
Where sleeps in dust, the father and the friend.
Cold is that heart which shared in all my joys,
And deaf the ear that lov'd a daughter's voice,
And stiff the hand that dry'd my infant tears,
And lost the guardian of my early years.
Ah! who can tell how many pains and woes
Thrill'd thro' that frame before it found repose.
Yet in those days of grief, I was not near,
To soothe one pang, or one lone hour to cheer;
And when he sunk to rest, I was not by
To catch the last glance of the swimming eye;
