Loop up her tresses Who was her father? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, In she plunged boldly, Lave in it, drink of it, Take her up tenderly, Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly,— Smooth, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Dreadfully staring Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Burning insanity, Into her rest.— Cross her hands humbly Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop,-first let me kiss away that tear)— (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin— Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird. that wings the air- (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !) In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou cherub-but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) Thou human humming-bee extracting honey Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint(Where did he learn that squint ?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that jug off, with another shove !) Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest! (Are those torn clothes his best!) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life(He's got a knife!) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, My elfin John! Toss the light ball-bestride the stick (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) I cannot write, unless he's sent above!) THE DEATH-BED. We watched her breathing thro' the night, As in her breast the wave of life So silently we seemed to speak, As we had lent her half our powers Our very hopes belied our fears, For when the morn came dim and sad, Her quiet eyelids closed-she had |