Page:The Domestic Affections, and Other Poems.pdf/169



Ah! not for this, far, far beyond relief, Deep in thy bosom dwells the hopeless grief; But that no friend of kindred heart is there, Thy woes to meliorate, thy toils to share; That no mild soother fondly shall assuage The stormy trials of thy lingering age; No smile of tenderness, with angel-power, Lull the dread pangs of dissolution's hour; For this alone, despair, a withering guest, Sits on thy brow, and cankers in thy breast!

Yes! there, e'en there, in that tremendous clime, Where desert-grandeur frowns, in pomp sublime; Where winter triumphs, thro' the polar night, In all his wild magnificence of might; E'en there, Affection's hallow'd spell might pour, The light of heav'n around th' inclement shore! And, like the vales with bloom and sun-shine grac'd, That smile, by circling Pyrennees embrac’d,