Poems for Children Sigourney/Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston

by Lydia Sigourney

Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston.

My Cousin, dear,
I almost fear
    To write to you;
So rare your wit
'T is surely fit,
    My words be few.

Your native coast
Has much to boast
    Of glorious name;
Both ancient lore
And modern store
    Uphold its fame.

Your'e proud, I fear,
In Boston, dear;
    I wish you would
Just come and share
Our country fare,
    T' would do you good.

Our rustic ways
And boisterous plays
    Perhaps might fright you;
But the sweet birds
And lambs, and herds
    Must sure delight you.

Pray give with this
A Christmas kiss
    To aunties, three;
And love to all,
Both great and small,
    Who think of me.

'T is time that I
My cradle try,
    Nurse takes the light,
And strains her ken,
To snatch my pen,
    So love, good night.

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