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TO T. L. H.


MODEL of thy parent dear, Serious infant worth a fear: In thy unfaultering visage well Picturing forth the son of Tell, When on his forehead, firm and good, Motionless mark, the apple stood ; Guileless traitor, rebel mild, Convict unconscious, culprit-child ! Gates that close with iron roar Have been to thee thy nursery door ; Chains that chink in cheerless cells Have been thy rattles and thy bells ; Walls contrived for giant sin Have hemmed thy faultless weakness in ; Near thy sinless bed black Guilt Her discordant house hath built,

And filled it with her monstrous brood-
Sights, by thee not understood
Sights of fear, and of distress,
That pass a harmless infant's guess !

But the clouds, that overcast
Thy young morning, may not last.
Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour,
That yields thee up to Nature's power.
Nature, that so late doth greet thee,
Shall in o'er-flowing measure meet thee.
She shall recompense with cost

every lesson thou hast lost.
Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill, *
Thou shalt take thy airy fill
Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing
For thy delight each May morning.
'Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou shalt play,
Hardly less a lamb than they.
Then thy prison's lengthened bound
Shall be the horizon skirting round.
And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers,
To make amends for wintery hours,


The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,
Shall from thy tender brow efface
Each vestige of untimely care,
That sour restraint had graven there;
And on thy every look impress
A more excelling childishness.

So shall be thy days beguild, THORNTON Hunt, my favourite child.



The clouds are blackening, the storms threat

ening, And ever the forest maketh a moan : Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, Thus by herself she singeth alone,

Weeping right plenteously.

“ The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,

In this world plainly all seemeth amiss : To thy breast, holy one, take now thy little one, I have had earnest of all earth’s bliss,

Living right lovingly."


DAVID and his three captains bold Kept ambush once within a hold. It was in Adullam's cave, Nigh which no water they could have, Nor spring, nor running brook was near To quench the thirst that parch'd them there. Then David, king of Israel, Strait bethought him of a well, Which stood beside the city gate, At Bethlem ; where, before his state Of kingly dignity, he had Oft drunk his fill, a shepherd lad ; But now his fierce Philistine foe Encamp'd before it he does know. Yet ne'er the less, with heat opprest, Those three bold captains he addrest, And wish'd that one to him would bring Some water from his native spring. His valiant captains instantly To execute his will did fly.

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