The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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TO A CHILD. |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
264
TO A CHILD.
My little one! thou knowest not the mystery of life;
Thou knowest not thy mother's love, thy father's fond embrace,
Thou knowest not the fate with which passing time is rife;
And yet my heart is full of care, as I gaze upon thy face;
As I gaze upon thy thoughtless face, and think upon the strange,
The varied and uncertain fate that may attend thy days;
For though life's early day be fair, we often see it change,
And live to weep the things which first won undivided praise.
Thou knowest not thy mother's love, thy father's fond embrace,
Thou knowest not the fate with which passing time is rife;
And yet my heart is full of care, as I gaze upon thy face;
As I gaze upon thy thoughtless face, and think upon the strange,
The varied and uncertain fate that may attend thy days;
For though life's early day be fair, we often see it change,
And live to weep the things which first won undivided praise.
265
I often wonder in what realms thy little feet may tread;
And indulge for thee a pleasant dream of regions thou may'st see,
The marvellous and beautiful of which I have but read,
May perhaps, thou little one, be familiar unto thee.
Then I think on all the simple joys thou wilt be sure to know:
In thy sweet days of infancy, when every thing is new,
The world will seem a paradise wherever thou may'st go;
And let it promise e'er so fair thou wilt believe it true.
And indulge for thee a pleasant dream of regions thou may'st see,
The marvellous and beautiful of which I have but read,
May perhaps, thou little one, be familiar unto thee.
Then I think on all the simple joys thou wilt be sure to know:
In thy sweet days of infancy, when every thing is new,
The world will seem a paradise wherever thou may'st go;
And let it promise e'er so fair thou wilt believe it true.
There is beauty for thine eye in fields, and woods, and flowers;
In clouds, and stars, in sunny skies, and in the wild-bird's song;
How green the mossy bank will be, and all thy passing hours
Will have life and freshness in them, that but to them belong.
The hills and fields around thy home will be a world to thee;
The trees which from thy youth thou know'st will seem the tallest trees,
And after life will picture them, and they will seem to be
The greenest and the loveliest that whisper to the breeze.
In clouds, and stars, in sunny skies, and in the wild-bird's song;
How green the mossy bank will be, and all thy passing hours
Will have life and freshness in them, that but to them belong.
266
The trees which from thy youth thou know'st will seem the tallest trees,
And after life will picture them, and they will seem to be
The greenest and the loveliest that whisper to the breeze.
Then the brightness of the summer, and the purple-tinted west,
And the moonlight, and the sea, and the wonders of them all—
These are joys in store for thee—for early life is blest
With bliss beyond its sager years, that never knows to pall.
And then again I think of times, when sitting by my knee,
And thy meek eyes are upward turned, with an inquiring look;
The dawnings of thy intellect how sweet 'twill be to see:
And to read thy guileless bosom, even as an open book.
And the moonlight, and the sea, and the wonders of them all—
These are joys in store for thee—for early life is blest
With bliss beyond its sager years, that never knows to pall.
And then again I think of times, when sitting by my knee,
And thy meek eyes are upward turned, with an inquiring look;
The dawnings of thy intellect how sweet 'twill be to see:
And to read thy guileless bosom, even as an open book.
267
For of life the opening is, as the peerless morning hours;
So balmy is the innocence—the soul of youth so pure;
And their's the kind true-heartedness, as dew upon the flowers—
Would that beneath the touch of noon that freshness could endure!
But life has shade as well as shine, and who can tell thy day
May not by tempest, and by gloom, be hastened to its night?
And lest it should, within thyself shall shine a cheering ray,—
Pure heart, and cultured soul to make life's dreariest journey bright.
So balmy is the innocence—the soul of youth so pure;
And their's the kind true-heartedness, as dew upon the flowers—
Would that beneath the touch of noon that freshness could endure!
But life has shade as well as shine, and who can tell thy day
May not by tempest, and by gloom, be hastened to its night?
And lest it should, within thyself shall shine a cheering ray,—
Pure heart, and cultured soul to make life's dreariest journey bright.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |