Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/195

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��THOU dost not dream, my little one,

How great the change must be, These two years, since the morning sun

First shed his beams on thee ; Thy little hands did helpless fall,

As with a stranger's fear, And a faint wailing cry was all

That met thy mother's ear.

But now the dictates of thy will

Thine active feet obey, And, pleased, thy busy fingers still

Among thy playthings stray ; And thy full eyes delighted rove

The pictured page along, And, lisping to the heart of love,

Thy thousand wishes throng.

Fair boy ! the wanderings of thy way,

It is not mine to trace : Through buoyant youth's exulting day,

Or manhood's bolder race : N 2

�� �