Poems on Various Subjects.

THE CHILD OF SORROW.

YES, said ELIZA, as she lay And watch'd the slow approach of day; For scarcely yet had morning light, Effac'd the footsteps of the night; Yes, Sorrow, the decree's divine, I now confess that I am thine; Tho' oft I met thee, and recoil'd, Whilst wand'ring thro' this trackless wild; Nor whilst I trod on ev'ry thorn, Confess'd to Sorrow I was born.

Could Recollection stretch her wing, And compass life's first op'ning spring,

When sad affliction gave me birth, And Sorrow hail'd me to the earth, Then would she say she saw me giv'n To Sorrow, as a charge from Heav'n ! I wept, Affliction gave a groan, When Sorrow claim'd me for her own; But Youth and Pleasure smil'd in scorn, Nor own'd to Sorrow I was born !

Scarce had I reach'd life's early dawn E'er Pleasure met me on the lawn. She gladly saw me prone to stray, And led me by a flow'ry way; But Sorrow press'd me in her arms, And snatch'd me from her witching charms ! I saw her faded form with fear, And gave lost Pleasure many a tear; But soon from her allurements torn, I felt to Sorrow I was born !

But Pleasure would not yet be foil'd, And Sorrow trembl'd for her child; My little heart beat time to Joy, And fondly grasp'd at ev'ry toy. Still Pleasure held her golden cup, And gaily bade me drink it up; While Sorrow dash'd it from my lip, E'er I the luscious draught could sip, And hedged my path with many a thorn, To shew to Sorrow I was born !

When youthful ardour laid its claim, I heard the distant sound of Fame; Ambition fir'd my glowing breast, And Fancy would not be suppress'd. But Sorrow watch'd my sparkling eye, And soon discover'd Pleasure nigh; And, to destroy her growing fears, Drown'd Pleasure in a flood of tears. Thus, blasted in life's early morn, I felt to Sorrow I was born !

Cold Penury stood trembling by, And Labour heav'd the heavy sigh; Whilst Sorrow said, with solemn voice, "Behold the guardians of my choice ! "Perhaps their lessons may restrain "The wild effusions of thy brain, "And teach thee why thou shouldst not trust "A breath, a shade, an arm of dust !" I ey'd my guides in silent scorn, Yet felt to Sorrow I was born !

Despondency, with sullen air, Gave all my prospects to Despair; Ambition, Pride, and Pleasure now, To Labour's yoke submissive bow, Whilst Poverty, in secret, press'd Each youthful vision flora my breast; And, sick'ning o'er the verge of Time, I long'd to reach another clime. Yet, onward led from thorn to thorn, I felt to Sorrow I was born !

What though Ambition lost its fire, And scarcely warm'd one vain desire; Though Pleasure long had ceas'd to please With golden dreams of joy and ease; Yet Hope contriv'd, with cunning snare, And subtle art, to steal my care; Despair himself would almost smile, Confess her power, and feel her guile; She whisper'd that some distant morn Might shew to Pleasure I was born.

In vain I sought for Happiness, And blindly grasp'd at earthly bliss; But faster than I could pursue, The airy phantom quickly flew; When Sorrow, still intent to save, Now open'd wide the yawning grave: I started back ! I saw my friend, With earthly happiness, descend;

I felt this last the sharpest thorn, Convinced to Sorrow I was born.

Now Pleasure died, and I awoke,­ The dream was fled, the charm was broke; And Resignation o'er my mind Distill'd the dews of Peace refin'd. Now can I view, without despair, Pale Sorrow's sad dejected air; And see, while heav'n appoints my woe, The emptiness of all below; And bless the now auspicious morn On which to Sorrow I was born.