But ceaseless, life-consuming sorrow, slept.
And, at those hours, how often used I wake
From my light sleep, and to the casement steal;
Then as the moon beam glittered on the Rhone,
The music of that voice and lute arose
In sighs of fragrance, and across the wave
Rung in strange sounds of harmony, as though [there,
Some Spirit of Heaven his midnight hymn breathed
All on his angel watch as lone he lingered.
I do remember it well-though long, long past;
And-whether it was young imagination,
Or the enchantment of the scene and time,-
Such strains as those I never after heard.
She died :-and died unknown to all around,
Though many a look of fondness rested on her.
It was but a short moment fled-her eyes
Had in expressive silence gazed upon
The glorious sun, that from a sky of gold
Went down in Majesty.-Her earnest glance
Still lingered on its last light-(she then knew
The setting sun would rise for her-no more.)-
That last light faded,-vanished, and she closed
Her heavy eyes, and back reclined her head,
As in soft sleep:-'twas an eternal sleep,
For she had died-unconscious all,-had died.
And there she lay, like some fair sculptured form,
Lovely and pure, and pale and motionless.
Literary Gazette.
SLEEP, little baby! Sleep!
Not in thy cradle bed,
Not on thy mother's breast
Henceforth shall be thy rest,
But with the quiet dead.
Yes-with the quiet dead,
Baby, thy rest shall be !
Oh! many a weary wight,
Weary of life and light,
Would fain lie down with thee.
Flee little tender nursling!
Flee to thy grassy nest;
There the first flowers shall blow,
The first pure flake of snow
Shall fall upon thy breast.
Peace! Peace! The little bosom Labours with shortening breath: Peace! Peace! That tremulous sigh
Speaks his departure nigh!—
Those are the damps of death.
I've seen thee in thy beauty,
A thing all health and glee; But never then wert thou
So beautiful, as now,
Baby, thou seem'st to me!
Thine up-turned eyes glazed over,
Like hare-bells wet with dew;
Already veiled and hid
By the convulsed lid,
Their pupils darkly blue.
Thy little mouth half-open-
Thy soft lip quivering,
As if like summer air
Ruffling the rose leaves, there
Thy soul was fluttering.
Mount up, immortal essence!
Young spirit, haste, depart!-
And is this death!-Dread Thing?
If such thy visiting,
How beautiful thou art!.
Oh! I could gaze forever
Upon that waxen face:
So passionless, so pure !-
The little shrine was sure
An Angel's dwelling place.
Thou weepest, childless Mother!
Aye, weep-'twill ease thine heart;He was thy first-born Son,
Thy first, thine only one,
"Tis hard from him to part!
"Tis hard to lay thy darling
Deep in the damp cold earth,
His empty crib to see,
His silent nursery,
Once gladsome with his mirth.
To meet again, in slumber,
His small mouth's rosy kiss;
Then, wakened with a start
By thine own throbbing heart,
His twining arms to miss!
To feel (half conscious why,)
A dull, heart-sinking weight,
Till memory on thy soul
Flashes the painful whole,
That thou art desolate !
And then to lie and weep,
And think the live-long night
(Feeding thine own distress
With accurate greediness)
Of every past delight;—
Of all his winning ways,
His pretty, playful smiles,
His joy at sight of thee,
His tricks, his mimicry,-
And all his little wiles!
Oh! these are recollections
Round mothers' hearts that cling,— That mingle with the tears
And smiles of after years,
With oft awakening.
But thou wilt then, fond Mother!
In after years, look back,
(Time brings such wondrous easing)
With sadness not unpleasing,
E'en on this gloomy track.
Thou'lt say- My first-born blessing,
It almost broke my heart
When thou wert forced to go!
And yet, for thee, I know,
"Twas better to depart.
'God took thee in his mercy,
A lamb, untasked, untried;
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory,
And thou art sanctified!
'I look around and see
The evil ways of men;
And oh! Beloved child!
I'm more than reconciled
To thy departure then.
"The little arms that clasped me,
The innocent lips that pressed,—
Would they have been as pure
Till now, as when of yore,
I lulled thee on my breast?
'Now, like a dew-drop shrined
Within a crystal stone,
Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove !
Safe with the Source of Love,
The Everlasting One.
'And when the hour arrives
From flesh that sets me free, baa
Thy spirit may await
The first at heaven's gate,
To meet and welcome me.'{{
FROM THE GREEK OF JULIAN,
As a garland once I made,
In a bed of roses laid,
Love I found; with eager joy
By his wings I seized the boy;
Crowning then an ample cup,
In a bumper drank him up.
Now along my veins he swims,
Fluttering, tickling through my limbs.
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