Why bounteous nature hast thou given
To this poor _Brute_--a boon so kind
As constancy--bless'd gift of Heaven!
And MAN--to waver like the wind?
WIDOWED LOVE.[1]
Tell me, chaste spirit! in yon orb of light,
Which seems to wearied souls an ark of rest,
So calm, so peaceful, so divinely bright--
Solace of broken hearts, the mansion of the bless'd!
Tell me, oh! tell me--shall I meet again
The long lost object of my only love!
--This hope but mine, death were release from pain;
Angel of mercy! haste, and waft my soul above!
[Footnote 1: Mr. T. Millar has composed sweet music to these lines, and
has been peculiarly fortunate in composing and singing some of
the exquisite Melodies of T.H. Bayly, Esq. of Bath.]
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM
OF THE LADY OF DR. GEORGE BIRKBECK, M.D.
President of the London Mechanic's Institution, and of the Chemical
and Meteorological Societies. Founder and Patron of the
Glasgow Mechanic's Institute, &c. &c. &c.
Lady unknown! a pilgrim from the shrine
Of Poesy's fair temple, brings a wreath
Which fame and gratitude alike entwine,
Around a name that charms the monster Death,
And bids him pause!--Amidst despairing life
BIRKBECK's the harbinger of hope and health;
When sordid affluence was with man at strife,
He boldly stripp'd the veil, and show'd the wealth
To aged ignorance, and ardent youth,
Of cultured minds--the freedom of the soul!
The sun of science, and the light of truth,
The bliss of reason--mind without control.
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