Роберт Андерсон (Robert Anderson) Текст оригинала на английском языке A Reflection Estrang'd from all I once held dear, Reflection turns to pleasures past; And pond'ring on life's mad career, At future days I shrink aghast. A secret pang oft rends my breast, Soft pity's tear could not remove; It robs me of night's soothing rest, And days of pain it makes me prove. It made me soon a child of care, And stole from me health's blooming rose; But I this pang must silent bear, Till death the painful scene shall close. Returning seasons charm no more, That erst this bosom fir'd with joy; The smiles of hope can nought restore, And but my fancied joys destroy. I fondly gaze, nor vain my aim, On nature's grand unerring plan; And sighing, inwardly exclaim, Alas! how thoughtless is frail man! The wither'd flow'ret in the shade, To me presents a hast'ning doom;-- A few short hours may see me laid Unpitied, in the narrow tomb. In youth we trifle time away, On tempting pleasures, idly vain; In manhood, join a world too gay, And crush the joys we hope to gain. Oh! when my latest hour draws near, Then may I own the moments blest; And, wearied with my wand'rings here, Believe with truth, death's slumber's rest! |
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