To follow sportively the rolling hoop;
To watch the sleeping top with gay delight,
Or mark with raptur’d gaze the sailing kite;
Or eagerly pursuing Pleasure’s call,
Can find it centr’d in the bounding ball!
Alas! the day will come, when sports like these
Must lose their magic, and their power to please;
Too swiftly fled, the rosy hours of youth
Shall yield their fairy-charms to mournful Truth;
Even now, a mother’s fond prophetic fear