to my mother.
47
The carol low,
As coo of dove
He warbles to his woodland-love!
As coo of dove
He warbles to his woodland-love!
The world would say
'Twas vain and wild,
Th' impassion'd lay of Nature's child;
And Feeling, so
Should veil the shrine,
Where softly glow her fires divine!
'Twas vain and wild,
Th' impassion'd lay of Nature's child;
And Feeling, so
Should veil the shrine,
Where softly glow her fires divine!
TO MY MOTHER.
Sweet mother! you fear while no longer you guide me,
The Past will be lost in the Present's gay show;
But ah! whether joy or misfortune betide me,
I love you too dearly, your love to forego!
The Past will be lost in the Present's gay show;
But ah! whether joy or misfortune betide me,
I love you too dearly, your love to forego!
