97 



LINES 



WRITTEN IN A BOOK WHICH WAS PRESENTED BY 



A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER ON HER 



BIRTH-DAY, 



My child ! this little gift of love 

 Commemorates the happy day 



That gave thee to a mother's arms, 



In all thy lovely, helpless charms ; 

 To cheer with soft affection's ray, 

 Perchance through life her changeful way. 



With joy, that dearest thoughts impart 



I often think upon that hour 

 When, first enfolded to my heart, 



I called thee sweetest, fairest flower. 



A little flower that seemed to me 



More beautiful and delicate 



Than aught that Fancy could create, 

 Or a fond mother hope to see : 

 I looked upon thy dove-like eye 

 With an unwonted extasy, 

 And pressed thy little lips with thrill 

 Of happiness reme mbered still. 



My fairest flower ! though many woes 



Along my path of life have passed, 



A soothing gladness through their gloom. 



Around my soul its beams hath cast, 

 To see thee rise in gradual bloom, 

 To see thee, day by day, disclose 

 A promise that in future years, 

 When little of earth's joy appears, 

 Thy gentle fondness still may shine 

 To bless the shade of life's decline. 



FllANZ. 



VOL. I. 1833. N 



