Page:Voice of Flowers.pdf/51

From some wise grandame, of your ancestors,
Who on the margin of my native Thames
Flourished, more vigorous and more fair than you?
'Twas not the fond garrulity of age,
That made her laud the past, without respect
To verity; for I remember well
How beautiful they were, and with what pride
I used to pluck them, when my school was o'er,
And love to place them, rich with breathing sweets,
Between my Bible-leaves, and find them there
Month after month, pressing their bosoms close
To some undying hope.
                                     Bright Hyacinth,
I'm glad you've brought your little ones. How snug
You wrap them in their hoods. But still I see
Their merry eyes and their plump cheeks peep out.
Ah! here's the baby, in its blanket too:—
You're a good mother, sure. Don't be in haste
To take their mantles off; the morn is chill;
I'd rather see them one by one come forth,
Just when they please. A charming family!