Poems for Children Sigourney/Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston
Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston.
My Cousin, dear,
I almost fear
To write to you;
So rare your wit
'T is surely fit,
My words be few.
Your native coast
Has much to boast
Of glorious name;
Both ancient lore
And modern store
Uphold its fame.
Your'e proud, I fear,
In Boston, dear;
I wish you would
Just come and share
Our country fare,
T' would do you good.
Our rustic ways
And boisterous plays
Perhaps might fright you;
But the sweet birds
And lambs, and herds
Must sure delight you.
Pray give with this
A Christmas kiss
To aunties, three;
And love to all,
Both great and small,
Who think of me.
'T is time that I
My cradle try,
Nurse takes the light,
And strains her ken,
To snatch my pen,
So love, good night.