Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/52

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a cradle at a cottage door, Where the fair mother with her cheerful wheel Carolled so sweet a song, that the young bird, Which timid near the threshold sought for seeds, Paused on his lifted foot, and raised his head, As if to listen. The rejoicing bees Nestled in throngs amid the woodbine cups, That o'er the lattice clustered. A clear stream Came leaping from its sylvan height, and poured Music upon the pebbles,—and the winds Which gently 'mid the vernal branches played Their idle freaks, brought showering blossoms down, Surfeiting earth with sweetness. Sad I came From weary commerce with the heartless world, But when I felt upon my withered cheek My mother Nature's breath,—and heard the trump Of those gay insects at their honied toil, Shining like winged jewelry,—and drank The healthful odour of the flowering trees And bright-eyed violets;—but most of all, When I beheld mild slumbering Innocence, And on that young maternal brow the smile Of those affections which do purify And renovate the soul, I turned me back In gladness, and with added strength to run