That cherished parent’s dear and tender care, 375
Which then, as now, my ev’ry hope would share)
No tongue of change, and altered feelings, told,
No lip smiled proudly, and no eye glanced cold;
When with glad hand I loosed the silken sail,
And launched my bark on pleasure’s sportive gale; 380
Fearing no coming gloom on wave or sky,
No blasts unkind my fairy pinnance nigh.
’Twas thine to point the doom of all below,
The sentence—e’en when writ on flowers—of “woe;”—