Oft has my Muse, to joyous scenes unknown,
Forc'd thro' all dangers, help'd by God alone;
Oft has she bath'd in tears the doleful line,
Yet waited patient for the will divine.
Ah! doom'd to suffer all that man can bear,
Far from a soothing father's anxious care,
To whom no mother's tender aid was giv'n,
Devoid of ev'ry help, — but that of Heav'n:
Tho' sunk in woe, and almost drown'd in grief,
Yet still I waited for some kind relief.
Thro' the dark clouds of fate, I long'd to spy
Some lucid breaking of an ev'ning sky;
And lo! my better stars, now rise to view,
And thus direct my Orphan Muse to you.
As when shrill winds the angry deep deform,
And the calm sea is harrow'd by the storm,
When lone, and dark, the whit'ning billows rise,
And livid light'nings dart along the skies,
The frighted sailor, in astonish'd mood,
Prepares to buffet with the raging flood;
'Till rais'd on high, the beacon shines to view,
And adds new gladness to the frantic crew.
Thus, in your smiles, my future joy I see,
Now Fate has alter'd ev'ry harsh decree.
How bless'd am I, when ev'n the good and great
Will raise the Poet from his humble state,
Will chear his Muse in ev'ry weak essay,
And make him cultivate each dawning ray!
How have I gain'd my noblest aim at last,
How do I view with joy my sorrows past! —
Yet oft my former woe shall cause a sigh,
And sad remembrance busy pride deny;
Oft shall I think of ev'ry scene of woe,
And oft to thee, my briny tributes flow;
Oft shall I bless thee, free from earlier strife,
And sing your praises, on the verge of life.
For while remembrance, in her mirror, shows
The sad idea of my former woes;
While what I suffer'd, lies within my heart, —
Sure fondest Gratitude will ne'er depart.