THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.

Down in the glade, where nibbling sheep In verdant pasture stray, A little boy was seen to keep His weary-footed way. A faithful dog, his fav'rite guard, Protects the youth from harm, A Robin dear his steps retard, So playful on his arm: Sweet little boy of rosy smiles, In health and beauty drest, A few fond friends their duteous toils Pursue, to find thy rest: Thy infant head knows not the care, That bears them anxious on; Through meadows wild, and sunny air, To seek where thou art gone. The vernal fields are daisied o'er, With life the hawthorns teem; The busy bee with flowery store, Hums in the sultry beam: But thou—so active in thy play, From parents absent far;— Heed'st not the meddling cares of day, Nor what their sorrows are. 'Tis thus, thought I, in childhood's morn We think creation ours; From sport to sport, our night is borne, Like butterflies on flow'rs: But when parental cares come round In manhood's riper years, The loveliest pleasures most abound When hope succeeds our fears. J. W. S.