Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/88

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TO AN INFANT.
The first dim dawn of mental day, When, scarcely comprehended,Truth's clear and pure, yet wavering ray, Seems half with error blended,While dreams of dubious wonder rollTheir shadows o'er the infant sold!
These, these fond thoughts of future joys In mothers' hearts awaken,By hours of care and bitter sighs, And troubling fears unshaken;Alas! that many a bitter pangShould on such lovely prospects hang!
But years are flown; and where is now The look of infant gladness?The beauty of the childish brow Is dashed with lines of sadness;And, worse than all, dark dreadful sinSinks like a pestilence within.
There is one change, and only one— Childhood! thy peace redeeming;The second birth! when joy unknown Through the free spirit streamingTells of redemption, pardon, love,Untold on earth—but sealed above.
To an Infant.
Sweet infant, when I gaze on thee, And mark thy spirit's bounding lightness.Thy laugh of playful ecstasy, Thy glance of animated brightness,How beautiful the light appears Of Reason in her first revealings;How blest the boon of opening years, Unclouded hopes, unwithered feelings!
Thou hast not felt ambition's thrall, Thou dost not sigh for absent treasures,Thy dark eye beams in joy on all, Simple and artless are thy pleasures;And should a tear obscure thy bliss, I know the spell to soothe thy sadness,The magic of thy father's kiss Can soon transform thy grief to gladness!
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