Like Luna, with her daughters of the sky,
Walking in matron majesty and grace?
All who had hearts, here pleasure found: and oft
Have I when tired with heavy tasks, for tasks
Were heavy in the world below, relaxed
My weary thoughts among their guileless sports,
And led them by their little hands afield,
And watched them run and crop the tempting flower,
Which oft, unasked, they brought me, and bestowed
With smiling face, that waited for a look
Of praise, and answered curious questions, put
In much simplicity, but ill to solve;
And heard their observations strange and new,
And settled whiles their little quarrels, soon
Ending in peace, and soon forgot in love.
And still I looked upon their loveliness,
And sought through nature for similitudes
Of perfect beauty, innocence, and bliss;
And fairest imagery around me thronged:
Dew-drops at day-spring on a seraph's locks,
Roses that bathe about the well of life,
Young Loves, young Hopes, dancing on morning's cheek,
Gems leaping in the coronet of Love!
So beautiful, so full of life, they seemed
So made entire of beams of angels' eyes.
Gay, guileless, sportive, lovely, little things!
Playing around the den of Sorrow, clad
In smiles, believing in their fairy hopes,
And thinking man and woman true! all joy,
Happy all day, and happy all the night.
Is rising sweetly on the air,
From SYRIA's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God
From Purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!
Oh! 'twas a sight-that Heav'n-that child
A scene which might have well beguiled
Ev'n haughty EBLIS of a sigh
For glories lost and peace gone by!
And how felt he, the wretched Man Reclining there while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace! "There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones-" thou blessed child! "When, young and haply pure as thou, "I looked and prayed like thee-but now--” He hung his head-each nobler aim,
And hope, and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!
THE CHILD'S RETURN FROM THE WOODLANDS.
Hast thou been in the woods with the honey-bee?
Hast thou been with the lamb in the pastures free?
With the hare through the copses and dingles wild?
With the butterfly over the heath, fair child?
Yes the light fall of thy bounding feet
Hath not startled the wren from her mossy seat;
Yet hast thou ranged the green forest dells,
And brought back a treasure of buds and bells.
Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song
Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng;
The woodbine, the primrose, the violet dim,
The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim;
These are old words, that have made each grove
A dreaming haunt for romance and love-
Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie,
A place for the gushings of poesy.
Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o'er;
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep,
Like hidden gems, in the flower-urns deep;
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell
'Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell;
And the scent by the blossoming sweet-briers shed,
And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.
Oh! happy child, in thy fawn-like glee,
What is remembrance or thought to thee?
Fill thy bright locks with those gifts of Spring,
O'er thy green pathway their colours fling;
Bind them in chaplet and wild festoon―
What if to droop and to perish soon?
Nature hath mines of such wealth-and thou
Never will prize its delights as now!
For a day is coming to quell the tone
That rings in thy laughter, thou joyous one!
And to dim thy brow with a touch of care,
Under the gloss of its clustering hair;
And to tame the flash of thy cloudless eyes
Into the stillness of autumn skies;
And to teach thee that grief hath her needful part, 'Midst the hidden things of each human heart.
Yet shall we mourn, gentle child! for this?
Life hath enough of yet holier bliss!
Such be thy portion!—the bliss to look,
With a reverent spirit, through Nature's book
By fount, by forest, by river's line,
To track the paths of a love divine;
To read its deep meanings-to see and hear
God in earth's garden, and not to fear!
It was a vision pure and mild
As ever bless'd a waking eye;
The sweet form of a sinless child,
Beneath a summer sky.
I sat beside the mossy roots
Of an old Elm-a hoary tree;
And near my feet a little rill
Went dancing in its glee—
Went dancing on the livelong day,
Through flickering scenes of light and shade; Yet sometimes paused in flowery nooks,
And with the flowerets played.
I gazed upon the restless thing,
With mingled thoughts of joy and pain;
For that blithe stream let led my heart
To childhood's sunny plain.
When, hark! the greenwood thickets stir-
The tangled hazel boughs divide-
And, lo! a bright-haired, happy child
Is standing at my side!
"Tis wearied with its summer play-
As roses droop with too much dew,
And on its smooth cheek deeply burns
The rose's crimson hue.
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