Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,
And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed
On the blank plains-the coldness of the night,
Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned,
Would, with imperious admonition, then
Have scored thine age, and punctually timed
Thine infant history, on the minds of those
Who might have wandered with thee.-Mother's
love,
Nor less than mother's love in other breasts,
Will, among us, warm clad and warmly housed,
Do for thee what the finger of the heavens
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds
Where fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or refine;
And the maternal sympathy itself,
Though strong, is in the main a joyless tie
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.
Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours!
Even now, to solemnize thy helpless state,
And to enliven in the mind's regard
Thy passive beauty, parallels have risen,
Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a father's thoughts,
Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky.
And first, thy sinless progress, through a world
By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed,
Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds,
Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom.
Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain ;
But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn
With brightness! leaving her to post along,
And range about, disquieted in change,
And still impatient of the shape she wears.
Once up, once down the hill, one journey, babe,
That will suffice thee; and it seems that now
Thou hast foreknowledge that such task is thine ;
Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st
In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon
Hath this conception, grateful to behold,
Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er
By breathing mist, and thine appears to be
A mournful labour, while to her is given
Hope, and a renovation without end.
-That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face
Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn,
To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen,
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers
Thy loneliness or shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore.
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage, intricate and dim?
Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs,
Which, when the appointed season hath arrived,
Joy as her holiest language, shall adopt,
And reason's godlike power be proud to own.
BEHOLD our children as they play!
Blest creatures, fresh from Nature's hand;
The peasant boy as great and gay
As the young heir to gold and land;
Their various toys of equal worth,
Their little needs of equal care,
And halls of marble, huts of earth,
All homes alike endeared and fair!
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl :
She was eight years old she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very
-Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?"
"How many? seven in all," she said,
And wondering looked at me.
“And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."
Thus did the little maid reply: "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree."
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green-they may be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
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