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So at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps.

Health shall prolong to many a festive hour

The social pleasures of his humble bower.

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,

Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy

"Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy:

No ling'ring hour of sorrow shall be thine;

No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be

In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,

Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past—

With many a smile

my

solitude герау,

And chace the world's ungenerous scorn away.

“And say, when summon'd from the world and thee,

I lay my head beneath the willow tree,

Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear,

And soothe my parted spirit ling'ring near?

Oh, wilt thou come, at ev'ning hour, to shed
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclin❜d,
Muse on the last farewel I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,

And think on all my love, and all my woe?"

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye

Can look regard, or brighten in reply;

But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim

A mother's ear by that endearing name;

Soon as the playful innocent can prove

A tear of pity, or a smile of love,

Or cons his murm'ring task beneath her care,

Or lisps with holy look his ev'ning prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear

The mournful ballad warbled in his ear;
How fondly looks admiring Hope the while,

At every artless tear, and every smile!

How glows the joyous parent to descry

A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

Where is the troubled heart, consigned to share

Tumultuous toils, or solitary care,

Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray

To count the joys of Fortune's better day!