73
He never knew that there was one on earth,
After a parent felt the touch of death,
And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away
Far from his dwelling—Oh! he never knew,
That there was one who would have follow'd him,
With steady kindness, even to the grave!
After a parent felt the touch of death,
And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away
Far from his dwelling—Oh! he never knew,
That there was one who would have follow'd him,
With steady kindness, even to the grave!
Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe
All that sustains my heart, and makes me think
The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive
That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue
Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt
Which gratitude was emulous to pay!
I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope,
And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment:
But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt
So deep an awe of that unspotted worth
And saint-like gentleness—such a mistrust
Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd,
That I resisted all my feelings claim'd,
All that sustains my heart, and makes me think
The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive
That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue
Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt
Which gratitude was emulous to pay!
I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope,
And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment:
But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt
So deep an awe of that unspotted worth
And saint-like gentleness—such a mistrust
Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd,
That I resisted all my feelings claim'd,
