I bade him soar with a cherub’s eye.
VIII.
And now, neath my folded wing I bear
A spotless soul like the lily fair;
The babe on its mother’s bosom slept;
Ere I bore it far, I paused and wept;
’Twas an angel strayed from its fairer home:
Peace to the mourner!—I come! I come!
Shelter-Island. Mary Gardiner.