. Original poems, for infant minds . my crutches slow, Drag along my weary way;Now, no longer dance and sing,Gaily in the merry ring. FOR INFANT MINDS. 139 Many sleepless nights I live, Turning on my weary bed:Softest pillows cannot give Slumber to my aching head:Constant anguish makes it fly,From my wakeful, heavy eye. / And when morning beams return, Still no comfort beams for me;Still my limbs with fever burn, Painful shoots my crippled kneo,And another tedious dayPasses slow and sad away. From my chamber windows high, Lifted to my easy chair,I the village green can spy— Once I usd to follo
. Original poems, for infant minds . my crutches slow, Drag along my weary way;Now, no longer dance and sing,Gaily in the merry ring. FOR INFANT MINDS. 139 Many sleepless nights I live, Turning on my weary bed:Softest pillows cannot give Slumber to my aching head:Constant anguish makes it fly,From my wakeful, heavy eye. / And when morning beams return, Still no comfort beams for me;Still my limbs with fever burn, Painful shoots my crippled kneo,And another tedious dayPasses slow and sad away. From my chamber windows high, Lifted to my easy chair,I the village green can spy— Once I usd to follow there,March, or beat my new-bought drum:Happy times! no more to come. There I see my fellows gay, Sporting on the daisied turf,And midst their cheerful play, Stoppd by many a merry laugtt;But the sight I cannot bear,Leaning in my easy chair. Let not then the scoffing eye, Laugh, my twisted leg to seatGentle Christian passing by, Stop awhile and pity me,And for you Ill breathe a prayr,Leaning in my easy chair. 140 ORIGINAL POEMS,. POOR DONKEYS EPITAPH. DOWN in this ditch poor Donkey lies,Who joggd with many a load ; And till the day death closd his eyes,Browsd up and down this road. No shelter had he for his head,Whatever winds might blow; A neighbouring common was his bed,Though dressd in sheets of snow. In this green ditch he often strayd To nip the dainty grass ;And friendly invitations brayd, To some more hungry ass. Each market day he joggd alongBeneath the gardners load, And snord out many a Donkeys songTo friends upon the road. A tuft of grass, a thistle green,Or cabbage-leaf so sweet, FOR INFANT MINDS. 141 Were all the dainties he was seenFor twenty years to eat. And as for sport—the sober soul Was such a steady Jack,He only now and then would roll, Heels upwards on his back. But all his sport and dainties too, And labours now are oer,Last night so bleak a tempest blew, He could withstand no more. He felt his feeble limbs benumbd, His blood was freezing slow;And pr
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