Edward Rushton

John Thelwall, "To Edward Rushton of Liverpool, on his Restoration to Sight" The Monthly Magazine 24 (August 1807) 49.

And does again the orient day
Pour for my friend the visual ray,
And yield the vernal scene?
Does Nature, in her Iris vest,
Again delight his bounding breast,
And wave her robe of green?

Does she, in linear form array'd,
And varied charm of light and shade,
Her pictur'd world renew?
And joys of long extinguish'd sense,
As from the bursting grave, dispense—
Rekindling to his view?

How beats my heart, in transport high,
How swells the moisture of the eye
The joyful tale to hear!
While eager flies the cordial lay,
To meet thee on the verge of day,
With gratulating tear.

Oh! as the visions round thee roll,
That cheer'd thy once accustom'd soul
In daily pomp array'd,
Say if not, now, with keener zest
They glad thy long-benighted breast?
Remerging from the shade!

But chief, what joys thy bosom own,
Newborn to raptures never known,
While flock thy offspring round!
Oft heard — oft felt — but never seen,
Till now, with beauty's kindling mien,
They in thy presence bound!

How will the strong poetic fire,
That, darkling, o'er the wondering lyre
Could guide thy master hand,
Now, kindling in a blaze of light,
To bolder raptures urge thy flight,
And with thy joys expand!

Oh friend! — that I the tear might see
That streams in silent extasy
O'er every form belov'd!
Might hear the murmurs of that tongue,
When first it pours the grateful song,
By cordial rapture mov'd!

But, tho' forbade the tear to see,
That flows in cordial extasy,
Or hear the murmur'd song;
Yet sympathy's omniscient art
In every feeling bears a part
That warms the circling throng.

The father's joy — the poet's fire,
That soon shall wake thy trembling lyre,
Find in my conscious breast,
A string in unison complete,
A throb, that to thy throb shall beat;—
Blissful, that thou art blest!