Republican Herald

POETRY.
To My Son,
By Lord Byron

Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue,
Bright as their mother's in their hue;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Recall a scene of former joy,
And touch thy father's heart, my boy!
And thou can'st lisp a father's name--
Ah! William, were thine own the same,
No self-reproach--but let me cease--
My care for thee shall purchase peace;
Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy
And pardon all the past, my boy!
Her lowly grave the turf has prest.
But thou hast known a stranger's breast.
Derision sneers upon thy birth,
And yields thee scarce a name on earth;
Yet shall not these one hope destroy,--
A father's heart is thine, my boy!
Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature's claim disown?
Ah, no! though moralist reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy,--
A father guards thy birth my boy!
Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace--
Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face--
Ere half my glass of life is run--
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my boy!
Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen's form revives in thee,
The breast which beat to former joy
Will ne'er desert its pledge, my boy!