On Reading 'Blacket's Remains' Poem by Mary Anne Browne

Martyr to genius ! rude misfortune's blast
Oft sear'd thee, as thy lowly cot it pass'd ;-
The threatening tempests darkly o'er thee gloom'd,
And strove to crush the bud, ere yet it bloom'd ;-
And, tho' sweet comfort's soul-reviving rays
Shone out to cheer thee in thy latter days,
They were but as the sun-beams smiling o'er
The shatter'd bark they cannot bring to shore ;
Like some light cloud above the thirsty fields,
Dropping the treasures that its bosom yields,
Dispensing all its store of balmy tears,
Until it fades away and disappears ;
So were thy talents in thy life's short day,
Till, like that cloud, they wept themselves away.