Where’er I go, if ills assail, and passion plays her part,
And dark Ambition spreads her gauds before my eye and heart,
And I one moment list the voice that proffers me the crown—
I think me of thy looks my boy, and bid the tempter down.
Yet there will sometimes come to me a thought of sadness given,
As the dark cloud streams athwart the flush that tints the sky of even,
When I look at thee, and think of thee, in all thine artlessness,
And think how flowery is the path which thy young foot doth press—
For I know that eye which sparkles now may suddenly be wet,
And the earth which looks so lovely too may be a desert yet.