Page:Poems Betham.djvu/49

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  Nor forc'd to leave thy native land,
  To pledge a cold, unwilling hand,
  May'st thou receive the hard command

  My mother had not half the zeal,
  The aching fondness which I feel,
  She had no broken heart to heal!

  And I was friendless when she died,
  Who could my little failings chide,
  And for an hour her fondness hide.

  But I can see no prospect ope,
  Can give no fairy vision scope,
  If thou art not the spring of hope.

  I cannot thy affection draw,
  By childhood's first admiring awe;
  Be tender pity then thy law!