TO A CHILD.

Kathleen of the glad blue eyes,

Elf-locks dark and curling—

Kathleen of the laughing voice,

Like a wild stream whirling:

When I gaze into those eyes,

Deep I read the story

Of a long-lost Paradise

And the young world’s glory.

Many a tale of fairyland

Have we dreamed together,

By the hearth in shadow-time,

Out on wind-swept heather.

Tired, I told of prince and fay,

Court and castle hoary;

Give me, sweet, my turn to-day—

I, too, crave a story.

Blue eyes telling tales to mine

Darkly raise their fringes:

Earth had doors to heaven once,

Wide on golden hinges.

From beyond, the timeless light

Banished time and sorrow;

Child-world had no yesterday,

Heaven was to-morrow.

Nought was there of languid bloom,

Frail and fevered splendour,

Kisses like the daisies thronged,

Love made greensward tender,

Truth was sunny as the sky,

Branching care spread o’er us,

All that warbled ecstasy

Made the garden’s chorus.

O thou Eden of the past—

If I could but find thee,

All I have, for thee, I’d cast,

Worthless, vain, behind me—

When the heaven-gates stood wide,

And all the air was ringing

With mingled voices of our home

And sound of angels singing!

Am I sad? How startled shine

Those blue eyes in wonder!

Child, whose heart beats close to mine,

Far are we asunder.

Yet, if I would follow thee,

Oft I marvel whether

Thou couldst lead me in, to see

Eden-land together.

M. E. Atteridge.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.