06 November 2013

Juvenile Sorrow - An 1803 Poem

As I wandered one morn through yon wood-covered valley,
To pluck the wild thyme and the blossoms of May;
I look'd round in vain for my sweet little Sally,
Whose innocent prattle enlivens the way.
At length on a stile, by a walnut-tree shaded,
I found her in tears — a dead bird in her lap —
The joy of her once smiling face was now faded,
While she throbbing related her cruel mishap.
"Alas!" she exclaimed, "see my little tame robin;
The naughty cat kill'd it!" — and then she caress'd
And kiss'd the poor victim, and, tenderly sobbing,
Let fall a few tears on its blood-sprinkled breast.
I sigh'd, as I said to myself, 'tis with reason
That sages declare all is sorrow below;
For even in childhood, delighfulest season,
How quickly is pleasure succeeded by woe!
Norwich Courier 8(4): 4. Issued December 14, 1803.