To a Playing Boy

Cradled upon thy mother’s knee,
     And circled in thy mother’s arms,
Beautiful child! thine infant glee
Is broken by no rude alarms;
Nor grief, nor care, can reach thee there,
     Safe sheltered on that hold Isle—
Thy brown may still its brightness wear—
     Thou in the grave can’st look and smile.

Innocent visitant of Earth!
     Arcadia is around thee now—
And from thy joyous glance shines forth,
     And beams upon thy radiant brown,
NATURE, unchecked—yet limiteth
     Thy wanton strength which lacketh still
Courage, and aim, and holy faith,
     Thy being’s purpose to fulfill.

Play on! play on! for soon will come
     Life’s toil, and misery, and care—
And joy, which makes thy heart its home,
     Shall be a transient dweller there!
Time, stern and pitiless, hurries by,
     And nought are infant smiles to him;
For where he looks with spectral eye
     Life’s pleasant sunshine growth dim!