YE bring your portion to the world with ye,
Sweet helpless ones!—that yearning tenderness
Which thrills parental hearts, when first they bless
The new-born heirs of immortality!
Oh! passing strange, methinks, the mystery
Of that deep love & mother's bosom feels,
When the first feeble wail of infancy
Upon her ear in plaintive murmur steals:
A voice responsive wakes within her then;
And if, perchance, her firstborn once she thought
Was loved as none could ever be again,
Yet each in turn its own new love has brought;
And though that one had seemed her heart to fill,
Yet room is there for all, and equal fondness still!
E.