 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
TO MY NAMESAKE.
And have they called thee by my name, sweet child?To me it had no sound of harmony
Till since thou hast beneath its burden smiled,—
Has it not caught new melody from thee?
Some names bring blessings with them;—if this be
Of those, a double share of joys is thine,
For it has wasted none of them on me;—
Thy young pure heart deserves them more than mine.
I had despaired of greatness,—my interests
Aspired not to the lofty or sublime,
And dreamed not of renown,—but when, years hence,
As faith declares will be revealed by time,
Thou to the laurel-crown hast proved thy claim,
My name,—for it is thine,—will grace “the scroll of Fame!”
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |