VERSES
SENT
TO
MRS.
BAILLIE
ON
HER
BIRTHDAY
,
1813.
A
JUDGEMENT
clear
,
a
pensive
mind
With
feelings
tender
and
refined
;
A
generous
heart
in
kindness
glowing
,
An
open
hand
on
all
bestowing
;
A
temper
sweet
,
and
calm
,
and
even
Through
petty
provocations
given
;
A
soul
benign
,
whose
cheerful
leisure
Considers
still
of
others'
pleasure
,
Or
,
in
its
lonely
,
graver
mood
,
Considers
still
of
others'
good
;
And
joined
to
these
the
visioned
eye
,
And
tuneful
ear
of
poesy
;
Blest
wight
,
in
whom
those
gifts
combine
,
Our
dear
Sophia
,
sister
mine
!
How
comes
it
that
,
from
year
to
year
,
This
day
hath
passed
without
its
cheer
,
—
No
token
passing
time
to
trace
,
No
rhymester's
lay
to
do
it
grace
?
Love
was
not
wanting
,
but
the
muse
,
Reserved
,
unpliant
,
and
recluse
,
Sat
in
her
unreal
kingdom
,
dreaming
Through
baseless
scenes
of
airy
seeming
,
And
could
not
turn
her
'wildered
eye
On
plain
,
unfancied
verity
.
Yet
be
it
so
!
once
in
my
life
I'll
hold
with
her
a
generous
strife
;
With
or
without
her
aid
,
my
lay
Shall
hail
with
grateful
lines
this
happy
day
.
The
day
when
first
thy
infant
heart
Did
from
inactive
being
start
,
And
in
thy
baby
bosom
beat
,
Its
doubtful
,
dangerous
,
fragile
seat
,
—
A
heavenly
spark
that
downward
came
To
mount
again
a
brighter
flame
.
Meantime
,
a
warm
and
fostering
blessing
,
More
precious
felt
in
long
possessing
,
'Tis
lent
to
those
who
daily
prove
Its
gentle
offices
of
love
.
Ah
!
for
their
sake
,
long
be
the
date
Of
this
its
more
ignoble
state
!
I
who
,
so
near
its
influence
set
,
Owe
it
a
long
and
pleasing
debt
,
In
course
of
nature
launched
before
From
mortal
nature's
foggy
shore
,
Would
fain
behind
me
leave
some
token
Of
friendly
kindred
love
unbroken
,
Which
in
some
hour
,
retired
and
lone
,
Thine
eyes
may
sometimes
look
upon
,
While
in
thy
saddened
tender
breast
Ah
,
no
!
I
may
not
think
the
rest
,
Lest
,
both
bereft
of
words
and
strain
My
silent
thoughts
alone
remain
:
This
token
then
do
thou
receive
.
I
will
not
tell
thee
to
believe
How
in
my
heart
its
spirit
glows
,
How
soothly
from
my
pen
it
flows
.
Through
years
unmarked
by
woe
or
pain
,
Oft
may
this
day
return
again
,
Blessed
by
him
whose
rough
career
Of
toil
and
care
thy
love
doth
cheer
.
Whose
manly
worth
by
Heaven
was
fated
To
be
through
life
thus
fitly
mated
;
Blessed
by
those
thy
youthful
twain
,
Who
by
thy
side
their
place
maintain
,
Still
nestling
closer
to
thy
bosom
As
the
fair
flowers
of
reason
blossom
;
By
all
who
thy
dear
kindred
claim
,
And
love
to
see
thy
face
,
and
love
to
hear
thy
name
.
And
so
I
end
my
simple
writing
,
The
muse
in
fault
,
but
love
enditing
That
which
,
but
for
this
love
alone
,
I
thought
not
ever
to
have
done
,
—
A
birth-day
lay
.
Then
sister
mine
,
Keep
thou
in
kindness
this
propine
,
And
through
life's
yet
untrodden
scene
Still
be
to
me
what
thou
hast
been
.