The First-Born

Never did music sink into my soul
So ‘silver sweet,’ as when thy first weak wail
On my 'rapt ear in doubtful murmurs stole,
Thou child of love and promise!—What a tale
Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom,
Hung on that slender filament of sound!
Life's guileless pleasures, and its griefs profound,
Seemed mingling in thy horoscope of doom.
Thy bark is launched, and lifted is thy sail
Upon the weltering billows of the world;
But oh! may winds far gentler than have hurled
My struggling vessel on, for thee prevail;—
Or, if thy voyage must be rough, may'st thou
Soon 'scape the storm and be—as blest as I am now!