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! my slow heart was only sad, when first I scann'd that face of feeble infancy: For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst All I had been, and all my child might be! But when I saw it on its Mother's arm, And hanging at her bosom (she the while Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile) Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm Impress'd a Father's kiss: and all beguil'd Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, I seem'd to see an angel-form appear— 'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild! So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear, And dearer was the Mother for the Child.