Behold the Child among his newborn blisses, |
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A six years' Darling of a pygmy size! |
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See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, |
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Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, |
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With light upon him from his father's eyes! |
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See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, |
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Some fragment from his dream of human life, |
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Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; |
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A wedding or a festival, |
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A mourning or a funeral; |
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And this hath now his heart, |
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And unto this he frames his song: |
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Then will he fit his tongue |
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To dialogues of business, love, or strife; |
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But it will not be long |
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Ere this be thrown aside, |
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And with new joy and pride |
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The little actor cons another part; |
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Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" |
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With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, |
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That Life brings with her in her equipage; |
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As if his whole vocation |
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Were endless imitation. |
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