The Young Mother to Her First-Born Child

My sweet wee nursling! thou art sweet to me
As sun to flow’rs, or honey to the bee–
Music in summer bow’rs – the fresh’ning stream,
To bright wings dipping from the sultry beam–
Hope to the mourner, to the weary rest–
To the young dreamer – visions of the blest!
What art thou like, nestling in slumbers there,
So meek, so calm, so innocently fair?
What art thou like? A dormouse, sleek and warm,
A primrose cluster, or a fairy charm?
Yes! thou’rt a charm! – a most mysterious spell!
Birds, bees, and flow’rs, can just as ably tell
Why sunshine, scent, and streams, their pleasure be,
As thy young mother why she dotes on thee
With such unmeasur’d, fond intensity!
I cannot look on thee, but life seems bright
With gushing sunbeams, ever new delight!–
Thou darling simpleton! thy vacant eye
As yet to my long gaze makes no reply;
Breathing and crying are thy only speech–
But, oh! for me, what eloquence hath each
Sounds of my first-born! – how my heart they thrill,
Like the sweet babblings of a hidden rill;
A well of future blessedness art thou!
My morning star, my crown of gladness now!

Source: Chambers Edinburgh Journal 3.150 (13 December 1834): 367.
(Available in ProQuest database)

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