On the Christening of a Friend’s Child

This day among the faithful plac'd

       &nbspAnd fed with fontal manna,

O with maternal title grac'd,

       &nbspDear Anna's dearest Anna!



While others wish thee wise and fair,

       &nbspA maid of spotless fame,

I'll breathe this more compendious prayer—

       &nbspMay'st thou deserve thy name!



Thy mother's name, a potent spell,

       &nbspThat bids the Virtues hie

From mystic grove and living cell,

       &nbspConfess'd to Fancy's eye;



Meek Quietness without offence;

       &nbspContent in homespun kirtle;

True Love; and True Love's Innocence,

       &nbspWhite Blossom of the Myrtle!



Associates of thy name, sweet Child!

       &nbspThese Virtues may'st thou win;

With face as eloquently mild

       &nbspTo say, they lodge within.



So, when her tale of days all flown,

       &nbspThy mother shall be miss'd here;

When Heaven at length shall claim its own

       &nbspAnd Angels snatch their Sister;



Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,

       &nbspMay gaze with stifled breath;

And oft, in momentary trance,

       &nbspForget the waste of death.



Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd

       &nbspIn summer-swelling pride;

Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude

       &nbspPeep'd at the rose's side.



It chanc'd I pass'd again that way

       &nbspIn Autumn's latest hour,

And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray

       &nbspRich with the selfsame flower.



Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud

       &nbspAlike in shape, place, name,

Had bloom'd where bloom'd its parent stud,

       &nbspAnother and the same!