Which grateful numbers meet in you combin’d.
Ah! like a changeful vision of the night,
Those scenes are fled, and death appals my sight!
Where’er I turn, lamented tombs appear,
Or parting sails extort the bitter tear!
To distant realms the darling child too gone;
O guard him heav’n, and let me weep alone!
For ev’ry tear, let countless blessings fall
On thy sad mother in thy grandsire’s hall!
Forgive, fair nymph, the dictates of despair;