And there a sight-how strangely sweet! My steps in wonder bound. For on a brilliant bed of flowers, To sleep?-oh! ne'er on childhood's eye, Did the warm living slumber lie, Yet still a tender crimson glow Its cheek's pure marble dyed— 'Twas but the light's faint streaming flow Through roses heap'd beside. I stoop'd-the smooth round arm was chill, "Alas!" I cried, "fair faded thing! Round yearning hearts for years But then a voice came sweet and low— I turn'd, and near me sate, A woman with a mourner's brow, E And in her still clear, matron face, A shadow'd image I could trace 66 Stranger! thou pitiest me," she said, With lips that faintly smil'd, "As here I watch beside my dead, My fair and precious child. "But know the time-worn heart may be THE RECAL. BARRY CORNWALL. COME again! come again! Called by many a vernal strain, Come thou, for whom tears were falling, And a thousand tongues are calling! Come again, O come again! Like the sunshine after rain! TO THE MEMORY OF W. P. WATTS, Aged Three Years. A. A. WATTS. A CLOUD is on my heart and brow, The tears are in my eyes,And wishes fond, all idle now, Are stifled into sighs; As musing on thine early doom, I turn-thy painful struggle past- I think of all thy winning ways, Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run, Where are they now?-and where, oh where, The eager, fond caress? The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair, Yet there are thoughts can bring relief, What hast thou 'scaped?-a thorny scene! A wilderness of woe! Where many a blast of anguish keen Or sickening chills of hope deferr'd What hast thou 'scaped?-life's weltering sea, Before the storm arose ; Whilst yet its gliding waves were free I cull'd from home's beloved bowers, The brightest-hued, most fragrant flowers That, drooping, seem'd to weep ;- SUMMER'S GONE. MRS. NORTON. HARK! through the dim wood dying, Faintly the winds are sighing- There, when my bruised heart feeleth, To weep alone. Hour after hour I wander, By men unseen-. And sadly my wrung thoughts ponder On what hath been. Summer's gone! There in our own green bowers, Our path through the tangled flowers Oft hand in hand entwining Oft side by side reclining We've watched in its crimson shining Dimly that sun now burneth Spring after spring returneth, Thou art gone Summer's gone! |