Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

Farewell, mild saint!—meek child of love, farewell!
Ill can this stone thy finished virtues tell.
Rest, rest in peace! the task of life is o'er;
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'Tis past! we breathe! assuaged at length
The flames that drank our vital strength!
Smote with intolerable heat
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Hard is my stem and dry, no root is found
To draw nutritious juices from the ground;
Yet of your ivory fingers' magic touch
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Germ of new life, whose powers expanding slow
For many a moon their full perfection wait,-
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Observe the insect race, ordain'd to keep
The lazy Sabbath of a half-year's sleep.
Entomb'd beneath the filmy web they lie,
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OH ! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
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Awake, my soul! lift up thine eyes,
See where thy foes against thee rise,
In long array, a numerous host;
Awake, my soul! or thou art lost.
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Child of distress, who meet'st the bitter scorn
Of fellow-men to happier prospects born,
Doomed Art and Nature's various stores to see
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OH! born to sooth distress, and lighten care;
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair;
Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
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Yes, injured Woman! rise, assert thy right!
Woman! too long degraded, scorned, opprest;
O born to rule in partial Law's despite,
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