H.K. WHITE.


I mark'd his eye--it beam'd with gladness,
His ceaseless smile and joyous air,
His infant soul had ne'er felt sadness,
Nor kenn'd he yet but _life was fair._
His chubby cheek with genuine mirth
Blown out--while all around him smiled,
And fairy-land to him seemed earth,
I envied him, unwitting child.

I look'd again--his eye was flush'd
With passion proud and deep delight,
But often o'er his brow there gush'd
A blackened cloud which made it night,
But still the cloud would wear away,
(His youthful cheek was red and rare,)
And still his heart beat light and gay,
Still did he fancy _life was fair._

Again I looked--another change--
The darkened eye, the visage wan,
Told me that sorrow had been there,
Told me that time had made him man.
His brow was overcast, and deep
Had care, the demon, furrow'd there,
I heard him sigh with anguish deep,
"_Oh! tell me not that life is fair._"