One morn as worthy Fairman lay
Courting his pillow's soft delay,
Enjoying, in his mind's fair view,
Good he had done, or meant to do;
A Letter came, as it appear'd,
Sign'd by a name, he'd never heard,
To beg he instant would attend
An old and long-forgotten friend,
Matter of import to unfold
Which could by her alone be told,
Whose trembling hand in Nature's spite
Had strove the wretched scrawl to write.
She wish'd into his ear to pour
The tidings of a dying hour,
Which she was anxious to impart
To the recesses of his heart.
This Summons the good man obey'd
And found upon, a sick-bed laid,
A female form, whose languid eye
Seem'd to look bright when he drew nigh.
—"Listen," she said, "I humbly pray,
Though short the time, I've much to say.
My features now no longer bear
The figure when you thought them fair: |
Maria was my borrow'd name
When passion shook my early claim
To woman's glory, that chaste fame | } |
Which when once lost, no power should give,
But to repent—the wish to live.
A mother's lab'ring pangs I knew,
And the child ow'd its life to you.
Though ever gen'rous, just and kind
Here doubt perplex'd your noble mind,
And had dispos'd you to believe
That I was false, and could deceive:
But now, if solemn oaths can prove,
And if my dying words can move,
Should he be living, I'll make known
The Babe I bore to be your own.
Scarce was it born, but 'twas my care
That you a parent's part should bear. |
My quiv'ring hands then wrapp'd it o'er,
I trembling plac'd it on the floor
And gave a signal at the door: | } |
When I, my eyes bedimm'd with tears,
And flurried by alarming fears,
In a dark night mistook the stair
And left it to a stranger's care.
Such was my error, as I thought
The child was harbour'd where it ought;
And, O my friend, how well I knew
The helpless would be safe with you:—
And when, by secret means, I heard
It was receiv'd and would be rear'd,
I doubted not you did prepare
The blessings of a parent's care.
—I was content, and join'd the train
Of warring men who cross'd the main;
And since, for twenty years or more,
I've follow'd Camps on India's shore;
But when, how chang'd by years of pain,
I saw my native land again,
I look'd, how vainly, for the joy
Of seeing my deserted Boy! |
Think how my disappointment grew,
When, from a strict research, I knew
He never had been known to you! | } |
But, favour'd by the will of Heaven,
To Mercy's hand he has been given;
Though of his first or latter years
No record of him yet appears:
At least, beyond the earliest day
As in his cot the Infant lay,
And when his smiling place of rest
Was on a fondling nurse's breast!
I the child's story, but in vain,
Have strove with anxious heart to gain;
For she who gave him milk still lives
And tells all that her mem'ry gives.
But of your child what is become,
Whether he has a house or home, |
Whether he sails the ocean o'er
Or wanders on some desert shore,
Whether he lives or breathes no more, | } |
If you've the heart that once I knew
May shortly be made known to you:
For, with the means which you possess,
He may be found your age to bless.
I only ask of Heaven to live
To see him your embrace receive;
And, dare I hope the joy, to join
A mother's fond embrace with thine:
Then may my pilgrim wanderings cease,
And I, at length, shall die in peace!
—Thus I have my last duty done,
And may kind Heaven restore your Son!—"
—She spoke—the tale she did impart
Sunk deep into the good man's heart;
For, as he said, there did not live
To close his eyes one relative. |