JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD. Not rudely culled, not suddenly it perished, My blessed Master saved me from repining, And daily to my board at noon and even Our fading flower I bade his mother bring, That we might commune of our rest in Heaven, Gazing the while on death, without its sting. And of the ransom for that baby paid So very sweet at times our converse seemed, That the sure truth of grief a gladness made: Our little lamb by God's own Lamb redeemed! There were two milk-white doves, my wife had nourished; So tame they grew that, to his cradle flying, "Twas a fair sight: the snow-pale infant sieeping, So fondly guardianed by those creatures mild, Watch o'er his closed eyes their bright eyes keeping: Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child! Still as he sickened seemed the doves too dwining, His mother found it, when she rose, sad-hearted, The dove died too, as if of its heart-chill. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. The other flew to meet my sad home-riding, To my dead child and its dead mate then guiding, 'Twas my first hansel and propine to Heaven; MRS. A. STUART MENTEATH. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear, departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, To live one day of parting love? TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past, Thy image at our last embrace: Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? ROBERT BURNS. AH, CHLORIS ! AH, Chloris! that I now could sit Your infant beauty could beget When I the dawn used to admire, I little thought the growing fire Your charms in harmless childhood lay, Like metals in the mine : Age from no face took more away Than youth concealed in thine. But as your charins, insensibly, Fond love as unperceived did fly, My passion with your beauty grew; Still, as his mother favored you, Threw a new flaming dart. |