 | Italy and Other Poems |  |
315
TO MY SONS.
This Lay be yours! whom yet these haunts of PeaceHold, where my childhood play'd, and still I trace
The bright sun rise, and close his summer race,
Nor wish for bliss beyond. Here soon must cease
Your pastimes. Manhood, from these sheltering shades
Beckons you forth: go then, but reckless not
Of those, who in this sweet sequester'd spot
Shed their lone tears upon the sunshine glades,
Your future fate revolving. Bear in mind
The lore here taught, and happiness, that sprung
Of innocence, perpetual carol sung.
Then—“Since to part”—to God's high will resign'd,
Advance where Duty calls—Enough to know
That Virtue guides to bliss, Vice leads to woe.
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