Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/231



THIS op'ning year, this rising day, Of pensive thought, and grateful joy, Might well for you awake the lay, And still a better lay employ.

Could I but pour the strain of praise, That sighs so soft on beauty's ear, The tribute due to wit, and grace, How justly were they offer'd here.

But no, a rude, unpolish'd strain, Presumes the mental charm to trace, And mark how virtue's youthful train May fill a parent's vacant place.

Mark how around that urn they glide, With beams like morning radiance clear: That urn which drank the recent tide Of sad affection's filial tear.

To you, those younger plants shall spread. As round their fair maternal stem.