THE MOTHER AND CHILD. BY MRS. HEMANS. WHERE art thou, Boy?-Heaven, heaven! the babe is playing Even on the margin of the dizzy steep! Thou 'rt safe!-Thou com'st, with smiles my fond arms meeting, Blest, fearless child!-I, I have tasted death! Nearer! that I may feel thy warm heart beating! And see thy bright hair floating in my breath! Nearer to still my bosom's yearning pain,— I clasp thee now, mine own! thou 'rt here again! CHRISTINE. Oh! Love can take What sh pe he pleases, and when once begun The after knowledge which his presence gives: I CANNOT, cannot change my tone, The golden violets of fame, I would but have it breathe to thee My deep and lone fidelity; My unrequited tenderness Living on its own sweet excess. That with the words a thought might steal On to my tale: it tells of one Who loved not more than I have done : Although its gift of light and air The moon hath shed her gentlest light |