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Or,—milder bliss—in some green nook
While summer suns decline,
To read some pure and peaceful book,
Her eyelight mixed with mine!
THE FATHER AND THE CHILD.
All on the open shore,—the Yale, the peerless Bay,
Ten miles of beauty, broad and soft, in his eye reflected lay;
But the Father there saw nothing, but only the tender guest
That, yet nor boy nor girl, played bo-peep within his vest.
A noble frame and strong, limbs of health's firmest mould,
The Father, propped against the bank, gave the proud earth to hold;
The arm that lay beneath his head, the hand that looped the Ass,
Had widened him a road, methinks, where he had willed to pass.
