There’s the little boy Joy, and the little boy Love; They have both toddled off, new pleasures to prove; They are both much inclined for to rove, And our rest and our peace of mind thus they destroy, And now, now we can’t find neither bad boy. Hah, there--ye rogues! through the thick bushes creeping, At last, at last, me thinks I see them both peeping. Come then--come ye dear babes--but whenever again we shall get you, Run away, never, never more to-day, will we let you. _TEARS_ “Needless tears.”--Tennyson. A-pleasure seeking all my days, What use have I for churlish tears? Or sorrow’s dirge? Or Melancholia’s lays? Joy’s rosy foot-paths I would follow onward yet for years. Blossoms gay, and butterflies; Light and life--hope and high emprise! Rainbow tints allure my eyes! Spend not, spend not thy hours in weeping; Soon, soon in the grave we shall be sleeping. Pensive stranger, banish sadness; Search the fields in quest of gladness; Seek in sunshine, seek in shadow,-- Joy is waiting in the meadow. Kindly faces, tempers sweet, Loving friends on life’s journey we shall meet. Tourist, then,--traveler,--grief is madness; Tarry not with frenzy-chained Sadness. Hark! hark! In budding forests near Happy birds are singing clear; Nature’s heart is full of cheer. Spend not, spend not thy hours in weeping. With hope, with joy thy heart, thy care-constrained heart, it should be leaping. _TO OUR LITTLE JOY-PRINCE--CHERUB DELIGHT_ Come! thou little rosy urchin; come, I pray thee. Sorrow’s hand no longer here shall delay thee. Down among the tall, green grasses swaying, Where the lambs and lambkins glad are playing, In meadows warm, where the lassies fair, and the laddies, are a Maying, In flower-decked fields we likewise should be straying. By still waters bright, Where the wild ducks curve in rapid flight, Basking in the warm sunshine; Drinking in a joy divine. In cool gardens, full of flowers, Sweeter than the famed Hercynian bowers; Happy here, we should while away life’s fleeting hours. On soft beds of fragrant ferns and roses, Where the Love god oft reposes, By the red-winged black-bird’s nest, Where some tired mortals so long to lie down and rest,-- Blest companions of the birds and bees,-- Here, shall not we fall asleep beneath the trees? Puck and Pan, they may come find us if they can. Or Fairy Mab, with cunning spying, Discover the lolling rushes, where we are lying. But that fretful little hunch-back Ogress Woman,--She, who ever prates of care and pain,-- She our hiding place shall seek in vain. Come, then, thou little rosy regent Prince of Peace and Pleasure, In fields and woods to-day, we shall squander many hours of joy and leisure. _INTROVERSE RETROSPECTION_