 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
314
THE BOY-PAINTER.
“My mother's kiss made me a painter!”
Life of Sir Benjamin West.
Life of Sir Benjamin West.
A little heart, where slept the germ, as yet in night concealed,
Of power and glory since to be (how radiantly!) revealed,
Alone, beside a cradle bed, was beating fast and warm,
Where, beautiful in slumber, lay a baby's dimpled form!
Of power and glory since to be (how radiantly!) revealed,
Alone, beside a cradle bed, was beating fast and warm,
Where, beautiful in slumber, lay a baby's dimpled form!
The infant smiled in sleep, and lo! a little, ardent hand,
Ere fled the smile, had snatched a pen and paper from the stand,
And traced the cradle and the babe, as if by magic spell,—
How soft, beneath that tiny touch, the fairy features fell!
Ere fled the smile, had snatched a pen and paper from the stand,
And traced the cradle and the babe, as if by magic spell,—
How soft, beneath that tiny touch, the fairy features fell!
315
How fondly o'er the playful sketch he bends—the enraptured boy!
Unmindful of his precious charge, so deep his dream of joy;
'Tis broken by a stealing step,—his mother caught the prize,
And kissed away the cloud of doubt that filled his timid eyes!
Unmindful of his precious charge, so deep his dream of joy;
'Tis broken by a stealing step,—his mother caught the prize,
And kissed away the cloud of doubt that filled his timid eyes!
O blessed Love! how mighty thou to sway the human heart!
A subtle, yet a holy king and conqueror thou art!
His sister's smile awoke the germ,—his mother's kiss, the flower,—
And a world's tears, the fruit, embalm, in many a classic bower!
A subtle, yet a holy king and conqueror thou art!
His sister's smile awoke the germ,—his mother's kiss, the flower,—
And a world's tears, the fruit, embalm, in many a classic bower!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |