Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/114



! let me wake the carol gay, And strike the lyre of pleasure; For mirth inspires the genuine lay. And animates the measure.

Blest was the hour, sweet infant boy, That gave thee to maternal arms; Propitious hope and smiling joy, With rapture view'd thy blooming charms.

For thee, sweet babe, the artless muse, A simple wreath composes; And see, a genial tear bedews Her garland form'd of roses.

And oh! in all thy future days, May virtue o'er thy breast preside; Illume thy mind with sacred rays, And ever be thy heavenly guide.

For thee I breathe an artless prayer, To Heaven that prayer addressing. May all thy life be free from care, Enrich'd with every blessing.