'T is true thy progress layeth Full many a loved one low, And for the brave and beautiful Thou hast caused our tears to flow; But always near the couch of death Nor thou, nor we can stay; _AND THE BREATH OF THY DEPARTING WINGS, DRIES ALL OUR TEARS AWAY!_ The Mocking-Bird Nor did lack Sweet music to the magic of the scene: The little crimson-breasted Nonpareil Was there, his tiny feet scarce bending down The silken tendril that he lighted on To pour his love notes; and in russet coat, Most homely, like true genius bursting forth In spite of adverse fortune, a full choir Within himself, the merry Mock Bird sate, Filling the air with melody; and at times, _IN THE RAPT FAVOR OF HIS SWEETEST SONG, HIS QUIVERING FORM WOULD SPRING INTO THE SKY, IN SPIRAL CIRCLES, AS IF HE WOULD CATCH NEW POWERS FROM KINDRED WARBLERS IN THE CLOUDS WHO WOULD BEND DOWN TO GREET HIM!_ These lines, addressed to the poet by his father, have a pathetic interest:-- To Harry Harry, my little blue-eyed boy, I love to have thee playing near; There's music in thy shouts of joy To a fond father's ear. I love to see the lines of mirth Mantle thy cheek and forehead fair, As if all pleasures of the earth Had met to revel there; For gazing on thee, do I sigh That those most happy years must flee, And thy full share of misery Must fall in life on thee! There is no lasting grief below, My Harry! that flows not from guilt; Thou canst not read my meaning now-- In after times thou wilt. Thou'lt read it when the churchyard clay Shall lie upon thy father's breast, And he, though dead, will point the way Thou shalt be always blest. They'll tell thee this terrestrial ball, To man for his enjoyment given, Is but a state of sinful thrall To keep the soul from heaven. My boy! the verdure-crownèd hills, The vales where flowers innumerous blow, The music of ten thousand rills Will tell thee, 't is not so. God is no tyrant who would spread Unnumbered dainties to the eyes, Yet teach the hungering child to dread That touching them he dies! No! all can do his creatures good, He scatters round with hand profuse-- The only precept understood, _ENJOY, BUT NOT ABUSE!_