The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
Their mothers met, their fathers friendly were,
Before their infant eyes could drop a tear;
And when they felt the first of earthly joys,
When first they toddled, oft exchanging toys,
Plucked in each other's gardens flowers they chose,
And smiled together, when they knew not woes.
How oft their parents talked of future times,
And prayed that they might e'er be clear from crimes,
Pleased to behold them in a garment new,
And loved them better as they older grew!
Young Philo joined them—then the happy three
In pleasure lived, and knew not misery.
Far on the hills, amid the purple bloom
Of honeyed heath, they talked of bliss to come;
Then bathed amid the mountain's crystal spring,
Blithe as the trout that skims with finny wing.
A thousand sports were there to make them blest,
The happiest moments when the heath they pressed;
When the wild lapwing, or the grey curlew,
Screaming around their heads in circles flew,
And moorhens, rolling o'er the bent and heath,
To save their little broods from instant death;
But when the cruel youths once came too nigh,
They spread their wings, and showed they yet could fly:
An emblem these of joys seen just before,
We grasp in hope, they fly, and are no more.
Before their infant eyes could drop a tear;
And when they felt the first of earthly joys,
When first they toddled, oft exchanging toys,
Plucked in each other's gardens flowers they chose,
And smiled together, when they knew not woes.
How oft their parents talked of future times,
And prayed that they might e'er be clear from crimes,
Pleased to behold them in a garment new,
And loved them better as they older grew!
Young Philo joined them—then the happy three
In pleasure lived, and knew not misery.
132
Of honeyed heath, they talked of bliss to come;
Then bathed amid the mountain's crystal spring,
Blithe as the trout that skims with finny wing.
A thousand sports were there to make them blest,
The happiest moments when the heath they pressed;
When the wild lapwing, or the grey curlew,
Screaming around their heads in circles flew,
And moorhens, rolling o'er the bent and heath,
To save their little broods from instant death;
But when the cruel youths once came too nigh,
They spread their wings, and showed they yet could fly:
An emblem these of joys seen just before,
We grasp in hope, they fly, and are no more.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |