THE WEAVEE?S BOY. What woe can conquer, or what force controui, That more than love, that instinct of the soul ? Not all the warmest of affection's zeal, Brother for brother, friend for friend, can feel, Or for his bride, the new-made bridegroom prove, Can match that holy, that surpassing love. Then, as he grew, his first faint words to hear, O best of music to a mother's ear ! 'Till he at lastto thy 1ov'd knee would creep, And, looking in thy face, say," Mother, wherefore weep That question rais'd a fuller gush of tears, But they relieve, and then the smile appears. Oft with maternal pride she view'd the child, His face so fair, his large blue eye so mild; And such his temper; one, whom nature forms, Unfit to struggle with life's ruder storms. O born in sorrow, sorrow soon to know, Nurs'd in the lap of grief, and rear'd with woe, What wonder if thy meek and timid soul From all around, a kindred nature stole ? Oft, as he past a childish groupe at play, He seem'd to ask, "Why am I not as they ?" Not so defin'd the feeling, nor exprest, Yet such the mute sensation of his breast. The father, where was he ? his sullen meal,' Where all in silence s. eem'd restraint to feel, ......... ?Google
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