TO MY READERS.
NEW LINES ON AN OLD SUBJECT
Long years ago, ere an earnest woe
Had lessened a dimple, or dimm’d a glance;
I sat with a book in the chimney nook,
Sighing o'er Infancy’s sweet Romance,
Had lessened a dimple, or dimm’d a glance;
I sat with a book in the chimney nook,
Sighing o'er Infancy’s sweet Romance,
I loved to look in that hard-worn book,
For it always left me in mournful mood ;
And my cheeks turned pale o'er the well-known tale,
So simple and sad, of “The Babes in the Wood.”
For it always left me in mournful mood ;
And my cheeks turned pale o'er the well-known tale,
So simple and sad, of “The Babes in the Wood.”
With rage and grief I read each leaf,
Though knowing by rote what each leaf would discover,
Longing to twine a good strong line,
And hang the uncle three times over.
Though knowing by rote what each leaf would discover,
Longing to twine a good strong line,
And hang the uncle three times over.
Oh! uncles then seemed terrible men,
And lucky it was I had none of my own ;
For I saw them at night in visions of fright,
With daggers, and poison, and hearts of stone.
And lucky it was I had none of my own ;
For I saw them at night in visions of fright,
With daggers, and poison, and hearts of stone.
Each page I read bowed down my head,
With a darker brow, and a heavier sigh,
Till of hope bereft, the Babes were left,
Weeping and hungry, to starve and die.
With a darker brow, and a heavier sigh,
Till of hope bereft, the Babes were left,
Weeping and hungry, to starve and die.
