BLANK VERSE. CHILDHOOD. IN my poor mind it is most sweet to muse Down which the child would roll; to pluck gay flowers, Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand, (Childhood offended soon, soon reconciled,) Would throw away, and strait take up again, Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the lawn Bound with so playful and so light a foot, That the press'd daisy scarce declined her head. THE GRANDAME. On the green hill top, Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof, And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn, Save by a slender-tapering length of spire, The Grandame sleeps. A plain stone barely tells The name and date to the chance passenger. else A mounting spirit, one that entertained And could in apt and voluble terms discourse Of births, of titles, and alliances; She served her heavenly master. I have seen That reverend form bent down with age and pain, And rankling malady. Yet not for this Ceased she to praise her maker, or withdrew |