On Her Birthday.

Dear Fanny! nine long years ago,

While yet the morning sun was low,

And rosy with the Eastern glow

The landscape smiled —

Whilst lowed the newly-waken’d herds —

Sweet as the early song of birds,

I heard those first, delightful words,

“Thou hast a Child!”

Along with that uprising dew

Tears glisten’d in my eyes, though few,

To hail a dawning quite as new

To me, as............