TO A YOUNG LADY.
My dear young friend, O may you e’er be blest,
And may your bosom be the seat of rest;
May each succeeding day new pleasures bring,
All pure and lovely as returning spring.
A little fortune be your happy lot,
And on a rising green erect your cot;
Around your bower may blooming hawthorn spring,
And intervening flowers fresh fragrance bring.
May deeds of honor crown your frugal board,
And Heaven’s rich blessings be your great reward,
Æolian harps your nightly windows grace,
And softly lull you to your balmy rest.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Sweet Josephine, thou hast left this drear abode,
To be an angel with thy Father, God!
There, in sweet strains, thy little lisping tongue
Will chant the praises angels never sung.
Farewell, dear babe! A last, a long farewell,
Till we in heaven with thee shall ever dwell.
