XI
That form, thro’ many a lapse of years,
Comes on imagination’s wing,
And oft, its mother’s soul it chears,
And seems an angel’s smile to bring.
XII
See yonder mother! on her breast
In innocence her infant lays,
In smiles that mark the soul at rest;
How on his sleep she loves to gaze;
XIII
Her soul is in her placid eye,
And rapture lights its beaming glance;
How softly heaves her bosom’s sigh,
In pure affection’s loveliest trance.
XIV
That glance, the rapture of the mind,
Those sighs, her tranquil breast that move,
Are pledges dear, that ever bind
A mother’s pure, unaltered love.