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.