Its balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its Mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent satiety!
And such my Infant's latest sigh! [5]
Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.
1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[417:1] First published, with the signature 'Aphilos,' in the Courier, Wednesday, March 20, 1811: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[[1]]
balmy] milky Courier, 1811.
[[5]]