 | Poems by William Stanley Roscoe |  |
34
SONNET TO MY MOTHER,
WITH A VOLUME OF EARLY POEMS.
Untaught to walk th' Aonian hills among,Nor skill'd to plant the dark leav'd laurel tree,
Or quaff the immortal fount of Castaly,
Yet may I frame for thee my youthful song;
Numbering the blessings which thy whispering tongue
Pour'd on my life, as slumbering on thy knee,
From fount more pure thou fed'st my infancy:
And as these unripe strains to thee belong,
(If He in heaven approving may inspire
The breathing genius of maturer age,)
So thine the labours of my future days;
Content if to this frail untimely page,
Or loftier sounding of that deep strung lyre,
Thou yield that dearest meed, a mother's praise.
| Poems by William Stanley Roscoe | |