Occasioned by my Child’s being unfortunately burnt to
death, at Plymouth Dock, in Devonshire.
MY child–my child–my Emma’s dead!
What now avails this life to me?
With Emma ev’ry joy hath fled;
And nought remains but misery.
Nature, in vain thy tears are shed,
And vain the tempest in my breast;
Can they recall my Emma dead,
Or to my bursting heart bring rest?
E’en now I hear the piercing cry;
O father! father! haste to save!
E’en now in flames I thee descry,
Though thou art mould’ring in the grave.
My child, my Emma, still I view,
Imploring aid I could not give;–
In vain to save I instant flew,
For thou no longer wert to live!
Could not Heav’n in mercy spare
A father’s eyes the horrid sight?
Too much for mortal heart to bear,
And not receive a deadly blight!
Sweet through thee the blow was giv’n!
To see, and not the power to save;
Was the means decreed by Heav’n,
To haste thy father to his grave.
O, may my ashes soon with thine
Commingle, in its parent dust;
And may my soul thine happy join,
In realms reserved for the just!
(Elizabeth Beverley)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Nature Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Cry Poems, Power Poems, Fathers Poems, Forgiveness Poems, Haste PoemsBased on Keywords: plymouth, commingle, occasioned, emma, devonshire, child-my