 | Songs and poems(1866) |  |
ON A LITTLE CHILD BURSTING INTO TEARS UPON READING THE BALLAD OF “THE BABES IN THE WOOD.”
As the sad tale with accents sweet,
The little ruby lips repeat,
Soft pity feels the tender breast,
For infant innocence distress'd.
The bosom heaves with rising woe,
Short and confus'd the pauses grow,
Brimful the pretty eye appears,
And—bursts at once a flood of tears:
Sweet softness! still, O still retain
This social heart, this sense humane:
Still kindly for the wretched bleed,
And no returns of pity need.
The little ruby lips repeat,
Soft pity feels the tender breast,
For infant innocence distress'd.
The bosom heaves with rising woe,
Short and confus'd the pauses grow,
Brimful the pretty eye appears,
And—bursts at once a flood of tears:
Sweet softness! still, O still retain
This social heart, this sense humane:
Still kindly for the wretched bleed,
And no returns of pity need.
In plenty flow thy days and ease,
Soft pleasures all conspire to please;
Long may a sire's affection bless,
And long a mother's tenderness.
Soft pleasures all conspire to please;
Long may a sire's affection bless,
And long a mother's tenderness.
And thou, O bard, whose artless tongue.
The sadly pleasing story sung,
With pride a power of moving own,
No tragic muse has ever known.
Complete is thy success at last;
The throng admir'd in ages past;
The wise and great have lov'd thy lays,
And Nature's self now deigns to praise.
The sadly pleasing story sung,
With pride a power of moving own,
No tragic muse has ever known.
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The throng admir'd in ages past;
The wise and great have lov'd thy lays,
And Nature's self now deigns to praise.
| Songs and poems(1866) | |