Note 408 — 1838

Son of my buried Son, whose tiny hand Thus clings to mine, it {saddens} me to think {troubles} That thou pressed down by poverty mayst sink Even till thy children shall in vain demand {Culture and neither feel nor} understand {Culture required to feel and} {My simplest lay that to their memory} {My least recondite lay, which memory} {Perchance may cleave}; hard fate, which need not be {May keep in trust } Did justice mould the statutes of the land. {A book time-cherished} and an honoured name {A cherished volume } Are high rewards, but bound not {Reason’s} claim. {Nature’s} No—hopes {in fond hereditary line } {and wishes in a living line} Spun from the bosom of a modest home Extend thro’ unambitious years to come, My careless Little-one, for thee and thine! MS.