THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.
Down in the glade, where nibbling sheep
In verdant pasture stray,
A little boy was seen to keep
His weary-footed way.
A faithful dog, his fav'rite guard,
Protects the youth from harm,
A Robin dear his steps retard,
So playful on his arm:
Sweet little boy of rosy smiles,
In health and beauty drest,
A few fond friends their duteous toils
Pursue, to find thy rest:
Thy infant head knows not the care,
That bears them anxious on;
Through meadows wild, and sunny air,
To seek where thou art gone.
The vernal fields are daisied o'er,
With life the hawthorns teem;
The busy bee with flowery store,
Hums in the sultry beam:
But thou—so active in thy play,
From parents absent far;—
Heed'st not the meddling cares of day,
Nor what their sorrows are.
'Tis thus, thought I, in childhood's morn
We think creation ours;
From sport to sport, our night is borne,
Like butterflies on flow'rs:
But when parental cares come round
In manhood's riper years,
The loveliest pleasures most abound
When hope succeeds our fears.
J. W. S.
THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.
Drawn & Engraved by J. W. Steel.