bantling has been dutiful to its father, but the father has made it a foundling, trusting it to the mercies of a work-house world. Still I trust it will find a home as good as the one it has left; a home in good and quiet hearts; hearts which respect even an impotent striving after the truth. NEW BEDFORD, JAN. 10, 1840. Go! little brain-begot ! Companion of lone hours! Go, tell the world, how a journeyer On life's way, has been plucking flowers! And though the flowers were humble, That the poet plucked here and there, Yet say that still he watched them With a father's care. Say, how, when life grew darksome, Oh! let no rude hand tear them! Good critic! hast thou no flowers, Thou know'st how gently they steal away Bitterness from wo's cup; And give thee to drink of the crystal stream, By misfortune has been blown. Then spare these little blossoms, That for my delight have grown! Respect a brother's hopings, And may God smile on thy own. |