. Original poems, for infant minds . ted? That they are supposd to think least who talk most,And their wisdom is always suspected ? While Lucy was young, if shed bridled her tongue With a little good sense and exertion;Who knows but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion ? THE SNOWDROP. I SAW a snowdrop on the bed,Green taper leaves among; Whiter than driven snow, its headOn the slim stalk was hung. The wintry wind came sweeping oer, A bitter tempest blew ;The snowdrop faded—never more To glitter with the dew. I saw a smiling infant laid In its fond mothers armsA
. Original poems, for infant minds . ted? That they are supposd to think least who talk most,And their wisdom is always suspected ? While Lucy was young, if shed bridled her tongue With a little good sense and exertion;Who knows but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion ? THE SNOWDROP. I SAW a snowdrop on the bed,Green taper leaves among; Whiter than driven snow, its headOn the slim stalk was hung. The wintry wind came sweeping oer, A bitter tempest blew ;The snowdrop faded—never more To glitter with the dew. I saw a smiling infant laid In its fond mothers armsAround its rosy cheek there playd A thousand dimpling charms. A bitter pain was sent to takeThe smiling babe away ; FOR INFANT MINDS. How did its little bosom shakeAs in a fit it lay ! Its beating heart was quickly stoppd, And in the earth so cold,I saw the little coffin droppd, And coverd up with mould. Dear little children, who may readThis mournful story through, Remember, death may come with speed,And bitter pains, for you. 105. THE YELLOW SAW a leaf come tilting down, ~ 7 From a bare, witherd bough;The leaf was dead, the branch was brown,No fruit was left it now : 104 ORIGINAL POEMS, But much the rattling tempest blew,The naked boughs among ; And here and there, came whirlingA leaf that loosely hung. This leaf, they tell me, once was green. Washd by the showers soft ;High on the topmost bough twas seen, And flourishd up aloft. I saw an old man totter slow,Wrinkled, and weak, and gray ; Hed hardly strength enough to goEver so short a way. His ear was deaf, his eye was dim,He leand on crutches high ; But while I staid to pity him,I saw him gasp and die. This poor old man was once as gay As rosy health could be,Yes, and the youngest head must lay, Ere long, as low as he ! POOR POMPEYS COMPLAINT. STRETCHD out on a dunghill, all coverd with snow,While round him blew many a pitiless blast; His breathe short and painful, his pulse beating low,Poor honest old Pompey lay br
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