POETRY, 
ASTERIA ROCKING THE CRADLE. 
For the Bee. 
Tis fair Asteria’s fond employ, 
To rock yor little restlefs boy ; 
That cradle in its small domains, 
Oh, what a treasure it contains { 
Not all Arabia’s spicy store, 
‘Net all Golconda’s glitt’ring ore, 
Elysian fields, nor Eden’s grove, 
Could buy that little restlefs loves 
Sweet babe, the fair Asteria cries ! 
Sweet babe! the list’ning muse replies 5 
While here a faithful guard we keep, 
Sweet babe, enjoy the honied sleep. 
Now hufh the sob, and hufh the sighs, 
Lo ! softest slumbers close his eyes ; 
And here a faithful guard we keep, 
Sweet babe, enjoy the honied sleep. 
Ere yon bright orb, that rules the fky, 
Beam’d on the lovely infant s eye 5 
And ere it whimper’d, ere it wept, 
Close in the silent womb it slept. 
And who can tell the bitter smart, © 
That pierc’d Asteria’s trembling heart 5 
Yet sure there’s magic in that boy, 
That wakes the soft parental joy. 
And still Asteria’s Janguid face, 
Wears the pale primrese’ sickly grace; 
Yet o’er that face, what brilliant hues 
Can her beloved babe diffuse ! 
‘How sweet beside the cradle’s brink, 
in musing state fo sit and think, 
No daisied bank, no green hill’s side, 
So thines in nature’s decent pride, 
¥OL, Xi. TT + 
