 | Poems |  |
99
To Myself.
I
Ah! little maid, how blest the day,When with the frolic hours, you gay
and careless rov'd
Thro' life, from woe, from trouble free,
Nor thought you e'er could parted be,
from those you lov'd!
II
Thine was the blest propensity,To make that world a heaven to thee,
in which you mov'd;
Nor knew the cause that made thee blest,
That joy'd thy heart and warm'd thy breast,
was those you lov'd!
100
III
Quick did thy lively pulses play,As quickly flow'd thy spirits gay,
secure you rov'd;
No thought of ill did ever scare,
Thy happy heart devoid of care,
with those you lov'd!
IV
No woe thy bosom did invade,Save those thine own compassion made,
by pity mov'd;
You wept,—yet ne'er did sorrow know,
But taught to weep for other's woe,
by those you lov'd!
V
And while the tears stood in thine eye,Or on thy cheek would trembling lie,
it often prov'd;
That smiles irradiated thy face,
As in the eyes you'd rapture trace,
of those you lov'd.
101
VI
The gloomy art thou ne'er did'st know,Of conjuring up ideal woe,
but sportive rov'd;
Thro' Fancy's brightest, gayest scene,
For happy wer't thou then I ween,
with those you lov'd!
VII
Gay was thy prattle, gay thy smiles,Thy infant sports, thy infant wiles,
still unreprov'd;
By age or chill severity,
Nor frowns repelling e're did see,
from those you lov'd!
VIII
Full many were thy childish ways,To charm the dear parental gaze;
fondly approv'd
Was each faint effort of thy mind,
While to thy little failings, blind
were those you lov'd!
102
IX
Ah! little maid, how blest the day,When with the sportive hours, you gay
and careless rov'd
Thro' life!—alas! that day is o'er,
Since little maid art thou no more
with those you lov'd!
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