GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Vol. XVIII. May, 1841. No. 5. Contents Fiction, Literature and Articles Worth and Wealth The Reefer of ’76 (continued) The Haunted Castle My Grandfather’s Story The Parsonage Gathering Leaves from a Lawyer’s Port-Folio A Descent into the Maelström May-Day Sports and Pastimes—Dog Breaking Review of New Books Poetry, Music and Fashion The Mother’s Pride The Dusty White Rose The Voice of the Spring-Time Alethe To an Old Rock To The “Blue-Eyed Lassie” I Cling to Thee Soliloquy of an Octogenarian Life The Sweet Birds are Singing Ladies of Queen Victoria’s Court, Correct Likenesses Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. * * * * * [Illustration: _Engraved by J. Sartain._ _The Mother’s Pride._ _Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by De Franca._] * * * * * GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Vol. XVIII. MAY, 1841. No. 5. * * * * * THE MOTHER’S PRIDE. BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING. How beauteous is childhood—how blessed, how calm, An eye full of sunshine—a bosom all balm— A free gushing heart of unfetter’d delight, Like a fount of pure water, untroubled, and bright. Such—such is the morning of innocent youth, When hope’s every promise seems gilded with truth, When flowers lay scatter’d in heaps ’neath our feet, And each passing gale brings its odorous sweet. How fair to that baby—in half-dreamy rest Reclining its head on a fond mother’s breast, Looks the whole outward world to those soft smiling eyes! How cloudless its visions—how brilliant its skies! How clear the blue heaven, whose bright borrow’d gleams Are reflected far, far o’er the sun-lighted streams! How gentle the music of low melody That is whisper’d from blossom, and flower, and tree! The earth, like an Eden, is glowing with joy, No serpent hath enter’d its peace to destroy, A heaven-mission’d Angel—still watches the whole, ’Tis the spirit of God, in that baby’s pure soul. Well, well may that mother look anxiously there On that fair, snowy brow, all unshadow’d by care; Then turn to the future with wondering gaze, To trace on its pages its fast coming days. How long will her ringlets of raven-like fold, Lie darkly amid its thick tresses of gold? That seem in their beauty of darkness, and light, Like the sunlight of morning in dalliance with night.