VI. 66 THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.” As speaks the sea-shell from the window-sill Of him, whom tears, prayer, passion could not save, Green "Bush aboon Traquair," that from the steep The plaided Exile, 'neath the Evening Star, Thinking of Scotland, scarce forbears to weep!" ΤΟ MY INFANT DAUGHTER, E. C. M. I. THERE is no sound upon the night, II. Hallow'd to us shall be the hour, Yea, sacred through all time to come, Which gave us thee, a living flower, III. Thy presence is a charm, which wakes The wither'd green, the faded bright. IV. Pure as a lily of the brook, Heaven's signet on thy forehead lies, V. In sleep thy gentle spirit seems To some bright realm to wander back; And seraphs, mingling with thy dreams, Allure thee to their shining track. V I. Already, like a vernal flower, I see thee opening to the light, And day by day, and hour by hour, Becoming more divinely bright. VII. Yet in my gladness stirs a sigh, VIII. Ah! little dost thou ween, my child, Which few, unharm'd, can clamber o'er. IX. Sweet bud of beauty! how wilt thou X. If years are destined thine, alas! For all that live and breathe, the glass XI. Yet, could a Father's prayers avail, So calm thy skies of life should be, That thou should'st glide beneath the sail Of virtue, on a stormless sea: XII. And ever on thy thoughts, my child, Grief clouds the soul to sin beguil'd; Who liveth best, God loveth best : XIII. Across thy path Religion's star Should ever shed its healing ray, To lead thee from this world's vain jar, XIV. Shun Vice-the breath of her abode Is poison'd, though with roses strewn— XV. Yes; travel on-nor turn thee round, XVI. For thee I ask not riches-thou Wert wealthy with a spotless name; I ask not beauty-for thy brow Is fair as Fancy's wish could claim. XVII. Be thine a spirit loathing guilt, May 1830. |