XXIII.

TO AN INFANT.

A. PHILLIPS.

TIMELY blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,

Every morn, and every night,

Their solicitous delight,

Sleeping, waking, still at ease,

Pleasing, without skill to please;

Little gossip, blithe and hale,

Yet abandoned to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,

Yet too innocent to blush ;
Like the linnet in the bush,
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her slender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys;
Like the linnet-green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy spray,
Wearied then, and glad of rest,
Like the linnet in the nest.
This thy present happy lot,

This, in time, will be forgot:
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy Time prepares;

And thou shalt in thy daughter see,

This picture, once, resembled thee.

10

TELL me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled;
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?

Or dost thou, free, at pleasure roam,
And sometimes share thy lover's woe;
Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know!

Oh! if thou hover'st round my walk,

While, under every well-known tree,

I to thy fancied shadow talk,

Should then the weary eye of grief,

Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief,

Oh, visit thou my soothing dream!

XXV.

THE FLOWER OF YARROW.

HAMILTON

Go, Yarrow flower, thou shalt be blest,
To lie on beauteous Mary's breast;
Go, Yarrow flower, so sweetly smelling,
Is there on earth so soft a dwelling?

Go, lovely flower, thou prettiest flower,
That ever smiled in Yarrow bower;
Go, daughter of the dewy morning,
With Alves' blush the fields adorning.

Go, lovely rose, what do'st thou here?
Ling'ring away thy short lived year,
Vainly shining, idly blooming,

Thy unenjoyed sweets consuming.