A Letter sent to Mrs. Barber, at Tunbridge-Wells. Constantine Barber Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42622 519 p. 45 Barber, Mary, ca. 1690-1757. Poems on Several Occasions [poems only]. London Printed for C. Rivington, at the Bible and Crown in St. Paul's Church-Yard 1734 pp. 246-249. xlviii,283,[7]p.; 8⁰.

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A Letter sent to Mrs. Barber , at Tunbridge-Wells . Thou glorious Ruler of the beauteous Day ! Have sev'nteen Years so swiftly roll'd away ? Hast thou so oft the heav'nly Circle run , When scarce I thought thy radiant Course begun ? Never shall I my fleeting Time renew ? Must it all perish in one transient View ? I wish — Alas ! my Wishes are in vain : Those flying Years they never can regain : With rapid Haste Old Time the Moments drives ; And scarce a Trace of Youth in Age survives : So , when the weary'd Mortal sinks to Rest , And ev'ry Tumult ceases in his Breast ; Imagin'd Scenes , and wish'd-for Views arise ; Anew Creation feeds his wond'ring Eyes ; Till Phoebus , rising o'er the spangled Plain , Recalls him from the bright , delusive Scene ; With Grief he then perceives th' enchanting Sight , The fleeting Creature of oblivious Night . When some fine Voice delights the raptur'd Heart , By Nature pleasing , yet improv'd by Art ; Tho' trembling each Seraphic Sound decay , And with melodious Cadence melt away ; The faithful Echo still revives the Strain , And sweetly charms the list'ning Ear again : But Life , once vanish'd , will return no more ; No mimic Thought its Presence can restore . Say then , my Soul , how must I now survey So many Years , so quickly snatch'd away ? Awake , my Muse ! Thou only canst impart Ease to my Griefs , and heal the wounded Heart : What Theme shall now employ my youthful Lays ? Say ! Next to Heav'n , what Subject claims my Praise ? O impious Question ! Dare I ask the Theme , When a lov'd Parent does that Duty claim ? The Infant Tree , that , with judicious Care , Some Hand defended from the piercing Air , With cooling Streams reliev'd the burning Root , Or lopp'd , with tender Skill , each sickly Shoot , Soon as it learns the Tempest to despise , And with diffusive Branches hide the Skies , Gladly rewards the weary'd Peasant's Pains , And loads the Parent Hand with annual Gains . Haste then , my Muse ; Sapphira is the Theme ; O strive , tho' vainly , to enhance her Fame : Her Guardian Care did all my Griefs assuage , Those sure Attendants of an Infant Age ! By her conducted to the Light of Truth , I sail , unshipwreck'd , thro' the Storm of Youth : The heav'nly Influence of her sage Advice Points from afar the dang'rous Rocks of Vice ; Shews , with discerning Eye , the blissful Plains , Where Peace , eternal , with fair Virtue reigns . O Thou , whom ev'ry Grace and Worth attends , Thou best of Mothers , and thou best of Friends , Indulgently accept these filial Lays ; Accept thy Son's inartificial Praise : May Heav'n restore thee to these Eyes again , And safely waft thee o'er th' Iernian Main : O quickly to my longing Eyes repair , And ever bless me with thy Guardian Care ! Dublin , August 28. 1731. the Author's Birth-day . Constantine Barber .