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Go! bind it on thy daughter's brow, in her thou'lt still look


'Twere well would all learn wisdom who behold the first gray hair!


I NEVER was a favourite,-
My mother never smiled
On me, with half the tenderness
That blessed her fairer child:
I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek,
While fondled on her knee;
I've turned away, to hide my tears,-
There was no kiss for me!

And yet I strove to please with all
My little store of sense;
I strove to please,-and infancy
Can rarely give offence:
But when my artless efforts met
A cold, ungentle check,
I did not dare to throw myself
In tears upon her neck!

How blessed are the beautiful!

Love watches o'er their birth;
Oh, beauty! in my nursery

I learned to know thy worth:
For even there I often felt

Forsaken and forlorn;

And wished-for others wished it too-
I never had been born!

I'm sure I was affectionate;

But in my sister's face

There was a look of love, that claimed
A smile or an embrace:

But when I raised my lip to meet

The pressure children prize, None knew the feelings of my heart,— They spoke not in my eyes.

But, oh! that heart too keenly felt
The anguish of neglect;
I saw my sister's lovely form

With gems and roses decked:
I did not covet them; but oft,
When wantonly reproved,
I envied her the privilege
Of being so beloved.

But soon a time of triumph came,—
A time of sorrow too;
For sickness o'er my sister's form
Her venomed mantle threw;
The features, once so beautiful,

Now wore the hue of death;
And former friends shrank fearfully
From her infectious breath.

'Twas then, unwearied day and night,
I watched beside her bed;
And fearlessly upon my breast
I pillowed her poor head.
She lived!—and loved me for my care,—
My grief was at an end;

I was a lonely being once,
But now I have a friend.


THEY say we are too young to love,-
Too wild to be united;

In scorn they bid us both renounce
The fond vows we have plighted.
They send thee forth to see the world,

Thy love by absence trying:
Then go; for I can smile farewell,—
Upon thy truth relying.

I know that Pleasure's hand will throw
Her silken nets about thee;

I know how lonesome I shall find

The long, long days without thee. But in thy letters there'll be joy; The reading,-the replying:

I'll kiss each word that's traced by thee,Upon thy truth relying.

When friends applaud thee, I'll sit by,
In silent rapture gazing;

And, oh! how proud of being loved

By her they have been praising!
But should Detraction breathe thy name,
The world's reproof defying:

I'd love thee,-laud thee,-trust thee still,—
Upon thy truth relying.

E'en those who smile to see us part,
Shall see us meet with wonder;
Such trials only make the heart
That truly loves grow fonder.

Our sorrows past shall be our pride,
When with each other vying:
Thou wilt confide in him, who lives
Upon thy truth relying.


Он say not 'twere a keener blow,
To lose a child of riper years,
You cannot know a father's wo-

You cannot dry a father's tears;
The girl who rears a sickly plant,
Or cherishes a wounded dove,
Will love them most while most they want
The watchfulness of love!

Time must have changed that fair young brow,
Time might have changed that spotless heart;
Years might have brought deceit,—but now
In love's confiding dawn we part!
Ere pain and grief had sown decay,
My babe is cradled in the tomb,—
Like some fair blossom torn away
In all its purest bloom.


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