 | Poems |  |
97
SONNET.
[I saw a mother, o'er her first-born bending]
I saw a mother, o'er her first-born bending,Pressing soft kisses on his cherub brow,
While hope, and pride, and deep affection blending,
Lent to her tranquil countenance, a glow
Of holiest beauty. Not a trace was there
Of earthly blemish; feeling, without stain,
Beam'd from her eyes, and the pure soul of prayer
Seem'd breathing in the gently murmur'd strain,
That trembled on her lip. It was a scene,
That angels, from their homes of ecstasy,
(Homes, where dark sin, the spoiler, ne'er hath been),
Approving, might have view'd, well pleas'd to see
That in a world of so much light bereft,
Some share of primal love, unsullied still was left.
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