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Reflections Occasioned By The Death Of Friends Post by :dlucca Category :Poems Author :Matilda Betham Date :August 2011 Read :3442

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Reflections Occasioned By The Death Of Friends

My happiness was once a goodly tree,
Which promis'd every day to grow more fair,
And rear'd its lofty branches in the air,
In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see!
Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along,
Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough,
While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings,
Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings,
Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below,
With many a joyful note, and many a song!

When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky!
Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around!
Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly!
While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough,
The blasted honey-suckles droop below,
And many noble branches strew the ground!

Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene,
Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread,
Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen;
Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure;
The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure,
Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead;
And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train,
I find my late delightful labour vain.

Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay,
Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear,
Shall sadden each endearment with a tear,
Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay,
And scarcely dare to think that good her own,
Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away,
In the warm sunshine of meridian day,
And when her hopes are full and fairest blown.

(The end)
Matilda Betham's poem: Reflections Occasioned By The Death Of Friends

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To Mrs. T. Fancourt To Mrs. T. Fancourt

To Mrs. T. Fancourt
July 15, 1803. I love not yon gay, painted flower, Of bold and coarsely blended dye, But one, whose nicely varied power May long detain the curious eye. I love the tones that softly rise, And in a fine accordance close; That waken no abrupt surprise, Nor leave us to inert repose. I love the moon's pure, holy light, Pour'd on

The Grandfather's Departure The Grandfather's Departure

The Grandfather's Departure
The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; To Lucy nodded with a smile; Kiss'd all the little ones around; Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. "When shall I come again!" he thought, Ere yet the journey had begun; It was a tedious length of way, But he beheld an only son. And dearly did he love to take A rosy grandchild on his knee;