A Sketch Poem by Joanna Baillie

LIGHT was her step, no sound her movements made;
With bending head, her breath she scarcely drew
Before that couch on which her babe was laid
Slumb'ring,--a rose-bud, gemm'd with morning dew,
The type of his rare beauty,--one soft cheek
Towards her turn'd with an unconscious smile,
One little arm, stretch'd forth as to bespeak
A mother's fond caress.--She gaz'd awhile.
Silent the lips, but from their fringed lids
Those blue eyes shoot a glance of tenderness,
Most eloquent.--Tho' love to speak forbids,
With her clasp'd hands she knelt the babe to bless.
No change could steal from that fair form its grace;
Her robe descended in harmonious flow,
And Heaven was in her looks; her youthful face
Suffused with piety's seraphic glow.
But more alarm'd she moved,--for by her side
He stood, the father of that cherish'd child,
And half her lovely features feign'd to chide;
But, soon relenting, she more sweetly smil'd,
Beseeching silence. He, meanwhile, subdu'd,
Dropt lowly by her on one bended knee,
Scarce conscious whilst he worshipp'd, that he woo'd
The heavenly glance of love and piety,
Reflecting but the pure unsullied breast,
Where the immortal spirit shone confess'd.