THE COTTAGE GIRL. MRS. HEMANS. A CHILD beside a hamlet's fount at play, A brightness, born and gone with infant mirth! THE DYING INFANT. BY N. MICHELL, ESQ. DAY lit the woody mountains; in the dell And dew, like beauty's tears, empearled each tree; Yes, all without was brightness, and a voice From western hills, as fades light's farewell streak, And on her breast it breathed its life away. I SAW an infant-health and joy and light Bloomed on its cheek, and sparkled in its eye; On that sad mother's breast-stern death was nigh, And life's young wings were fluttering for their flight. Last I beheld it stretched upon the bier, Like a fair flower untimely snatched away, Calm and unconscious of its mother's tear, Which on its placid cheek unheeded lay— But on its lip the unearthly smile express'd, "Oh! happy child, untried, and early bless'd!" New Monthly Magazine. TO H. C., SIX YEARS OLD. WORDSWORTH. O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; In such clear water, that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; O blessed vision! happy child! That art so exquisitely mild, I think of thee with many fears, For what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite, Or lengthening out thy season of delight, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a dewdrop, which the morn brings forth, Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; A gem that glitters while it lives, And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife, 1802. |