Classic Poem

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. C.

Too happy George! whose Home contains
The spur and guerdon of his pains!
Who still can call on kindred love
To guide, to censure, or approve;
Alas for me! whose youthful days
Ne'er heard domestic blame or praise!
No hopes of home my toils beguil'd,
No sister there , no mother smil'd —
And if in indolence I slept,
No sister there , no mother wept!
What wonder if thy young renown
So early claims the laureate crown?
How sweet his toil who knows the prize
He seeks will charm a sister's eyes!
When gain'd — his recompence how sweet,
To place it at a mother's feet!