Крисчен Милн (Christian Milne)

Painful Reflections When Sick

WHY heave my sighs, and thus my tears
Why do they flow so fast?
Why swells my mind with former grief,
And woes that long are past?
Why has not time ere now eras'd
Reflections from my breast,
That prove thus baneful to my ease,
And break my wonted rest!
Where are my once pretended friends?
Alas! too plain I see
Self int'rest blended with the love
That they profess'd for me.
Nineteen revolving years past on,
Without a single frown;
Time flow'd serene, and Fortune seem'd
To "mark me for her own."
But, ah! the transitory joys
That Fortune's smiles can give,
Who trusts to them, and think they'll last,
Themselves how they deceive!
By Fate's decree my youth was left
To one kind parent's care;
Nor were my infant smiles allow'd
A Mother's love to share.
Heav'n call'd her to that fix'd abode,
Whence mortals come no more;
She early join'd eight little babes,
Whom Death had claim'd before.
She fled, and left my tender age
To meet a world of care;
A Father and a Brother still,
Tho' Heav'n vouchsaf'd to spare.
While yet a boy, this Brother sought
To plough the boundless wave;
We met no more, poor luckless youth,
He found a "wat'ry grave."
I wail'd the partner whom I lov'd,
We shar'd each childhood's joy;
My Father droop'd his sorrowing head,
And mourn'd his darling boy.
We still retain'd what Av'rice thinks
Can happiness afford--
Yet with our minds, then touch'd with grief,
Such thoughts but ill accord.
Alas! too soon of all we had
We were entirely 'reft;
Constrain'd to pay another's debts,
We indigent were left.
I try'd each tender anxious art,
To soothe my parent's woe;
But bitter grief possess'd his soul,
And caus'd his tears to flow.
Death came, and broke his woe-worn heart,
Now I lament him gone;
He's blest, I trust, tho' I be left
Poor, friendless, and alone!

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