by V [Caroline Clive].
Originally published in The National Magazine (National Magazine Company) #3 (Jan 1857).
How can thy mother be more bless'd
Than thus to feed thee from her breast?
What loss of time can sweeter be
Than thus to nurse thee on her knee?
In days gone by I loved the strife,
The motion, sound, and change of life;
I lov'd to talk, laugh, listen, roam,
And stir with mirth the calm of home.
But now my heart new feelings move,
Unknown when those were in their bloom;
And better than them all, I love
To nurse thee in this silent room.
I steal beneath the lamp, and trace
The dawn of beauty in thy face—
The woman's blessing—which shall bend
Around thee many a sudden friend.
I see thy large eyes, blue and bright,
The lash that shades their azure light;
I see thy finely-pencill'd brow,
Trac'd darkly on thy skin of snow;
Thy long small hand, thy curving lip,
The graceful posture of thy sleep,
Thy locks in infant mazes pil'd—
Alice, my fair and quiet child.
The days will come when thou must go
Free through the world wherein we live;
But, daughter, yet thou dost not know
More bliss than this fond breast can give.
My heart will bound to know thee bless'd,
My eyes will beam to see thee fair;
My hands in fancy oft have dress'd
With its first wreath thy sunny hair.
But O, I love to dream these dreams,
While scarce are lit thy morning beams;
And fed and rear'd by me alone,
Thou'rt all, and nothing but my own.
Twine round my hand thy slender finger,
Let thine eye on thy mother's linger,
Smile to my smile, thou dearest thing,
And wonder while I bend and sing.
Command me with each dear caprice,
Bid sound or silence come or cease,
Demand thy food with eye and lip,
And, satisfied, then sink to sleep;
And I will hold thee on my knee,
Beholding all my joy in thee—
My fairy-gift, my priceless pearl,
My opal-cup, my first-born girl!