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Once did I see her clasp the Child about,And take it to herself; and I, next day,Wish'd in my native tongue to fashion outSuch things as she unto this Child might say:And thus, from what I knew, had heard, and guess'd,My song the workings of her heart express'd.
"Dear Babe, thou Daughter of another,One moment let me be thy Mother!An Infant's face and looks are thine;And sure a Mother's heart is mine:Thy own dear Mother's far away,At labour in the harvest-field:Thy little Sister is at play ;—What warmth, what comfort would it yieldTo my poor heart, if Thou wouldst beOne little hour a child to me!
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