Page:Amulet 1833.pdf/5

Rh

And each one lends his voice and breath, To urge the tiny sail; No sailor in a calm e'er watched More anxious for a gale.

And though they are but paper boats, Launched on a village brook; How earnest is each beating heart! How eager is each look!

Oh, happy age! that thus can find, In trifles and in toys, The pleasure of a new delight— The freshness that enjoys!

Oh! why should life bring weariness, And languor, and disdain? Ah! would to God that I could be    An eager child again!