How frail is human life! How fleet our breath, Born with the symptoms of approaching death! What dire convulsions rend a mother's breast, When by a first-born son's decease distressed. Although an embryo, an abortive boy, Thy wond'rous beauties give a wond'rous joy: Still flattering Hope a flattering idea gives, And, whilst the birth can breathe, we say it lives. With what kind warmth the dear-loved babe was pressed: The darling man was with less love caressed! How dear, how innocent, the fond embrace! The father's form all o'er, the father's face, The sparkling eye, gay with a cherub smile, Some flying hours the mother-pangs beguile; The pretty mouth a Cupid's tale expressed, In amorous murmurs, to the full-swoll'n breast. If angel infancy can so endear, Dear angel-infants must command a tear. Oh! could the stern-souled sex but know the pain, Or the soft mother's agonies sustain, With tenderest love the obdurate heart would burn, And the shocked father tear for tear return. |