Poems by Matilda Betham Part 3

I cannot thy affection draw, By childhood's first admiring awe; Be tender pity then thy law!

This heart would bleed at every vein, I could not even life sustain, If ever thou should'st give me pain.

O! soul of sweetness! can it be, That thou could'st prove unkind to me!

That I should fear this blow from thee!

Alas! e'en then I would not blame, My love to thee should be the same, And judge from whence unkindness came!

Her words grew indistinct and slow, Her voice more tremulous and low, When suddenly the song was o'er, A whisper even heard no more-- She had discern'd my nearer tread; Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled.

SONGS.

SONG.

Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, Upon thy warrior father's breast!

Avails it, that his eyes behold, Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold!

Avails it that he bends his ear, So fondly thy soft breath to hear!

Or, that his rising smiles confess, A gracious gleam of tenderness!

The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r To hold him for one absent hour!

Some plant that ceases thus to share, A daily friend's auspicious care, Relaxes in its feeble grasp, The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, Loose in the heedless aether play, And every idle breeze obey!

Thus vainly had I sought to bind; Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, Till smiles and suns.h.i.+ne could restore, My often-blighted hopes no more!

SONG.

SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT.

What do I love? A polish'd mind, A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; A graceful air, unsway'd by art, A voice that sinks into the heart, A playful and benignant smile-- Alas! my heart responds the while, All this, my Emily, is true, But I love more in loving you!

I love those roses when they rise, From joy, from anger, or surprise; I love the kind, attentive zeal, So prompt to know what others feel, The mildness which can ne'er reprove, But in the sweetest tones of love-- All this, my Emily, is true, But I love more in loving you!

The self-command which can sustain, In silence, weariness and pain; The transport at a friend's success, Which has not words or power to bless, But, by a sudden, starting tear, Appears more precious, more sincere-- All this, my Emily, is true, And this I love in loving you!

A SAILOR'S SONG.

SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH.

I ponder many a silent hour, On friends belov'd when far at sea, And, tell me, have I not the power To draw one kindred thought to me!

The while we linger on the coast, My truant fancy homeward flies, And when the view is almost lost, Unmanly tears bedew my eyes--

And oft forgetful do I stand, Nor crew, nor s.h.i.+p, nor ocean see; And often does my heart demand, If friends belov'd thus think on me!

And when to England bound once more, I shall with fond impatience burn, Will not some others on the sh.o.r.e As fondly look for my return!

O! let me of your kindness hear!

Repeat the strain as I depart!

It swells like music on my ear, It falls like balm upon my heart.

Aug. 21, 1805.

ANOTHER,

WRITTEN EARLIER.

Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends!

Though fortune and fame I pursue, On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, How reluctant I bid them adieu!

My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, Thus slowly receding from sh.o.r.e, While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, A perhaps I may see it no more!

There all that I love, that I value, remain, That only awakens my fears, For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, On the lapse of two lingering years?

They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, I shall know not a word of their fate!

No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress!

I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late!

I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, To my earliest wish I am true; But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, Or bid my dear country adieu!

SONG.

SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETt.i.t, OF NORWICH.

Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy!

I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy!