Such as the ministering angels use!
O! sigh not thus, my dear, my gentle boy!
Nor let the sad contagion of my grief
Infect so soon thy young unconscious breast.
’Tis strange to see thee gazing silently
Where there is nought to catch thy infant eye,
With downcast look, and grave abstracted air,
As though thou hadst th’ experience of years,
And wert reflecting on the woes of life.
The silken fringes round thy sweet blue eyes