On Finding A Strayed Child.

ON FINDING A STRAYED CHILD.

A STEM blown from its parent tree, I planted in my humble bower; Sure it may grow to shelter me, From scorching sun and dripping shower.

Stay Madelina, child of woe, Thy little feet no more shall roam, I said, and fast as tears could flow, Mine fell, and pity took thee home.

The dewy ground was then thy bed, Its canopy, the arch of Heaven; On a cold stone reclin'd thy head, Thy mouldy scraps were hardly given.

Ill suited was thy motley dress, Refuse of infancy and age; So sorted, as to shew distress. Not screen thee from the tempest's rage.

But on thy face yet health could glow, There unreflecting smiles were seen: For transient joy so temper'd woe, To cheer thy little heart within.

By want torn from thy parent tree, Here hapless Madelina come; My little shall be shar'd with thee, I'll be thy parent — here's thy home.