III. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS.

Thou happy, happy elf!

( But stop,— first let me kiss away that tear ) —

Thou tiny image of myself!

( My love, he's poking peas into his ear! )

Thou merry, laughing sprite!

With spirits feather-light,

Untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin —

( Good heav'ns! the child is swallowing a pin! )

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air —

( The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair! )

Thou darling of thy sire!

( Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire! )

Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,

Thou idol of thy parents — ( Drat the boy!

There goes my ink! )

Thou cherub — but of earth;

Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,

In harmless sport and mirth,

( That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail! )

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey

From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows,

Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny,

( Another tumble!— that's his precious nose! )

Thy father's pride and hope!

( He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope! )

With pure heart newly stamp'd from Nature's mint —

( Where did he learn that squint? )

Thou young domestic dove!

( He'll have that jug off, with another shove! )

Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest!

( Are those torn clothes his best? )

Little epitome of man!

( He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan! )

Touch'd with the beauteous tints of dawning life —

( He's got a knife! )

Thou enviable being!

No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,

Play on, play on,

My elfin John!

Toss the light ball — bestride the stick —

( I knew so many cakes would make him sick! )

With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down,

Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,

With many a lamb-like frisk,

( He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown! )

Thou pretty opening rose!

( Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose! )

Balmy and breathing music like the South,

( He really brings my heart into my mouth! )

Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,—

( I wish that window had an iron bar! )

Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,—

( I'll tell you what, my love,

I cannot write, unless he's sent above! )