Poems | ||
179
INFANTILE LOVE.
If in this world of breathing harm,
There lurk one universal charm,
One power, which to no clime confin'd,
Sways every heart and every mind,
Which cheers the monarch on his throne,
The slave beneath the torrid zone,
The soldier rough, the letter'd sage,
And careless Youth, and helpless Age,
And all that live, and breathe, and move,—
'Tis the pure kiss of infant love.
Ev'n Tyrants, whose suspicious ear
Loathes the lip-praise they seem to hear,
Seek in some child of tender age,
Some lisping girl, some urchin page,
The mind's stern feelings to relieve,
With sounds of love they dare believe.
There lurk one universal charm,
One power, which to no clime confin'd,
Sways every heart and every mind,
Which cheers the monarch on his throne,
The slave beneath the torrid zone,
The soldier rough, the letter'd sage,
And careless Youth, and helpless Age,
And all that live, and breathe, and move,—
'Tis the pure kiss of infant love.
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Loathes the lip-praise they seem to hear,
Seek in some child of tender age,
Some lisping girl, some urchin page,
The mind's stern feelings to relieve,
With sounds of love they dare believe.
Ev'n they, of human kind the stain,
Banditti fierce, or pirate train,
Exiles, who ne'er shall hear the sound
Of sweet and innocent mirth rebound;
But groans of dying victims' fall,
Mix'd with brute riot, round their hall;
Who mock at name of wife or friend;—
Ev'n they their gloomy brows unbend
To a stern rugged tenderness;
When some sweet infant's gay caress,
Wooing awhile from vice, imparts
A human feeling to their hearts:
Ev'n they can love the blooming toy,
That woke the long-still'd pulse of joy.
Banditti fierce, or pirate train,
Exiles, who ne'er shall hear the sound
Of sweet and innocent mirth rebound;
But groans of dying victims' fall,
Mix'd with brute riot, round their hall;
Who mock at name of wife or friend;—
Ev'n they their gloomy brows unbend
To a stern rugged tenderness;
When some sweet infant's gay caress,
Wooing awhile from vice, imparts
A human feeling to their hearts:
181
That woke the long-still'd pulse of joy.
That kiss can deaden pain's rude throb;
Can silence misery's bitter sob;
A ray of light on Winter's sky,
Can bid despair and darkness fly;
It sways from Ind to Zealand's coast;
All feel,—and Woman feels it most.
Can silence misery's bitter sob;
A ray of light on Winter's sky,
Can bid despair and darkness fly;
It sways from Ind to Zealand's coast;
All feel,—and Woman feels it most.
Poems | ||