BETA

To Richard Harrison, Green Bank.

“ Dear little one ! and can thy mother
find1
In those soft lineaments, that move
so free2
To smiles or tears, as holiest infancy3
About thy heart its glorious web doth
wind,4
A faithful likeness of my sterner mind ?5
Ah ! then there must be tunes un-
known to me,6
When my lost boyhood, like a wander-
ing air,7
Comes for a while to pass upon my
face8
Giving me back the dear familiar grace9
O’er which my mother poured her last
fond prayer !10
But sin and age will rob me of this power,11
Though now my heart, like an uneasy
lake12
Some broken images at times may
take13
From forms which fade more sadly
every hour !” ’14