Poems (Taggart)/A Solace

by Cynthia Taggart

A SOLACE. 1822.

Thus anxiously why watch the dawn,
 And hope for morning light?
When day to me is still the same
 As sad and dreary night.

But yet the now approaching morn
 One pleasure will unfold,
My sister and her beauteous babe
 Once more I shall behold.

And though her presence cannot give
 The joy which once it gave,
Nor from one racking, torturing pain
 My wearied frame can save,

Yet still, 't is sweet to hear her voice,
 And feel my hand in hers;—
To know she 's sitting by my bed,
 A solace true confers.

Her sweetly prattling infants too,
 With sportive innocence,
Could cheer a heart less pained than mine,
 Or soothe less aching sense.

E'en now their playful kiss
 Has a prevailing charm;
Their artless questions too afford
 A momentary calm.

Their little songs of joy
 Are constant all the day;
And laughing eyes and merry looks
 Bespeak their life is May.

Or, if sometimes a tear
 Bedim those sparkling eyes,
A parent's kiss with fondest care
 The pearly crystal dries.

But ah! the latent woe
 That lurks in future years,
To blast their spirit's playfulness,
 And cloud their minds with fears.

As reason grows mature,
 New cares and griefs oppress,
And patience oft and fortitude
 Must struggle with distress.

Their troubled hearts will then despond
 To find Hope's promise vain;
But soon will youthful buoyancy
 Dispel the clouds again.

O may their lives be quiet still,
 As aught on earth can be,
And moments pass, 'twixt grief and care,
 Of soft serenity.

May every guardian power on high
 Their growing years befriend;
And heavenly virtue's fostering hand
 From every snare defend.

O may Affliction ne'er dispense
 Her deadliest sorrows drear;
But may the sweet, contented smile
 Their parents' hearts still cheer.