’Tis sweet to watch thee in thy sleep,
When thou, my boy, art dreaming;
’Tis sweet, o’er thee a watch to keep,
To mark the smile that seems to creep
O’er thee like daylight gleaming.
’Tis sweet to mark thy tranquil breast,
Heave like a small wave flowing;
To see thee take thy gentle rest,
With nothing save fatigue opprest,
And health on thy cheek glowing.
To see thee now, or when awake,
Sad thoughts, alas! steal o’er me;
For thou, in time, a part must take,
That may thy fortunes mar or make,
In the wide world before thee.
But I, my child, have hopes of thee,
And may they ne’er be blighted!—
That I, years hence, may live to see
Thy name as dear to all as me,
Thy virtues well requited.
I’ll watch thy dawn of joys, and mould
Thy little mind to duty—
I’ll teach thee words, as I behold
Thy faculties like flowers unfold,
In intellectual beauty.
And then, perhaps, when I am dead,
And friends around me weeping—
Thoul’t see me to my grave, and shed
A tear upon my narrow bed,
Where I shall then be sleeping!
Barton Wilford.
The Maypole nearest to the metropolis, that stood the longest within the recollection of the editor, was near Kennington-green, at the back of the houses, at the south corner of the Workhouse-lane, leading from the Vauxhall-road to Elizabeth-place. The site was then nearly vacant, and the Maypole was in the field on the south side of the Workhouse-lane, and nearly opposite to the Black Prince public-house. It remained till about the year 1795, and was much frequented, particularly by milk maids.