On a Child.

WHAT quick sensations crowd my anxious breast,
 As o'er thy infant form my eyes are cast! 
What pleasing views my flattering hopes suggest! 
What groundless fears those happy prospects blast! 

Now gay Idea paints thy future years,
 Thy mind unequall'd, unexcell'd thy charms;
 Pensive Affection now impels my tears,
 And fond Solicitude my soul alarms. 

O may that God, whose endless bounty gave
 So dear a boon my sorrows to assuage,
 In tender mercy my Louisa save,
 To glad my youth, and cheer my drooping age! 
And when this bosom heaves its parting sigh,
 May thy lov'd hand be near to close my darkening eye!