MY INFANT NIECE.

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And think that sorrow was so nigh;—Or hear thee first essay to speak,And then forebode this scene of sadness ?

But, ah! our prospects—oh, how vain !

Our anxious cares—oh, how requited !A Mother's love—a Father's pride—How near to misery allied !Their joy, how soon exchanged for pain!

Their every hope, how quickly blighted !

And is it weakness, then, to mourn,

When thus our dearest hopes are thwarted 1-

When in the arms of icy Death

A spotless babe resigns its breath !

To see it from its kindred torn!A Mother from her Infant parted !

Oh, no!—it weakness ne'er can be,When woe-begone, to show our feeling !-

To shed the sympathetic tear

In mournful silence o'er the bier

Of one so lov'd in infancy !—

Such grief, alas, there's no concealing!