To Mrs. Grant, of Duthell, On reading her "Intellectual Education"

The pleasing task, "to rear the tender thought,"And fix the gen'rous purpose in the soul,Has long been your's, and gradual time has taughtThe truth and blessings of your mild controul.From the sweet baby smiling through its tears,To frolic childhood, laughing, frank and free,Each varying shape that dawning reason wearsHas long been known, respected friend! to thee.To watch the mind's young blossoms, and to guardThe lovely plants from ev'ry noxious blight,Hath been your care, and now your rich rewardTo see them bloom around in ev'ry virtue bright!

Nor pain, nor grief your ardour could subdue,Though deadliest pangs your tortur'd bosom wrung,And bitter drops of anguish would bedewThe lovely faded form o'er which you hung.Oh! I have seen you with a saint-like smile,Though sickly sorrow wore your life away,With cheering praise your pupils' tasks beguile,And charm each lurking evil fear away:And many a heart with mine will now attest,How priz'd your ceaseless care at such a time;When she, the loveliest, dearest, and the best,Was snatch'd away by Death, in beauty's early prime!

Oh, most respected! and, oh, best belov'd!What arm'd your soul to bear such heavy grief?—'Twas pious faith, and meek religion, prov'dYour certain solace, and your sure relief:Nor your's alone—you spread the blessing round,And lifted up our youthful hearts to heav'n;And in your bright example still we foundHow good and lovely ev'ry precept giv'n!And in your moral page shall others findWhate'er improves or dignifies the soul;Shall learn to form and mould the infant mind,And free the lovely babe from terror's false controul.

The youthful mother with delight shall read,And make each useful maxim there her own;While pow'rful nature in her breast shall plead,To tend herself the precious charge alone:No hireling's breast her baby's cheek shall press,Her children's plaint no other voice shall still;No other soothe their infantine distress,Or check, with tend'rest care, the froward will.And oh! for this, for all her anxious days,And sleepless nights, her rich reward shall be,To see them walk in wisdom's pleasant ways,When from her guardian hand in riper age set free.

The brightest patterns then of female worthHer lov'd and lovely daughters shall appear;Her sons add lustre to the noblest birth,For ev'ry manly grace and virtue dear,Whatever path ordain'd by fate to tread,Honour shall be the guardian of their way—Virtue shall deck the wisdom of the head,"And reason calm the passion's madd'ning play.Like the sweet rose, the beauteous queen of flow'rs,Bright shall they bloom in fairest garb array'd,And when expir'd on earth their measur'd hours,Shall leave a name behind whose lustre cannot fade.