LINES,
ON THE INFANT SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE
HON. COL. MONTAGUE.
How fair is childhood; like the ray
Of summer morn, the blush of day.
Bright scions of a noble race,
Blooming in love and youthful grace,
In innocence and beauty's pride!
As rosebuds blossoming at ease,
Showering their beauties on the breeze,
On some green mountain's side.
High thoughts are with that lovely boy,
In whose dark eye beams radiant joy;
May blessings on his years attend,
And Heaven its choicest favours send!
Hope of an honourable line,
With feeling heart and mind endued,
May health, and peace, and every good,
And length of life, be thine.
Oh! love it is a blessed thing,
And to the heart doth comfort bring;
But the fond throb that for a brother
A sister feels, excels all other,
Save only that by parents known:
Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers
Thy gentle heart, and still endears
Thy very smile and tone.
No cares upon those brows of light,
Round which the tresses cluster bright,
Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended,
Have yet, with envious trace, descended:
But all is happiness and mirth,—
Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven,
With hope, and joy, and beauty given,
To cheer this weary earth.
1838.