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THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP.
SUGGESTED BY A MONUMENT OF CHANTREY'S.
Thou sleepest - but when wilt thou wake, fair child ?
Not when the fawn wakes - not when the lark
*A butterfly, as if resting on a flower, is sculptured on the monument.
Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall —
Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles ; Thou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles ; Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home.
To the solemn depths of the forest shades,
I look'd on the mountains
a vapour lay Folding their heights in its dark array: Thou brakest forth, and the mist became A crown and a mantle of living flame.
I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot-
To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
Thou takest through the dim church aisle thy way,
And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.
Sunbeam of summer! oh, what is like thee?
BREATHINGS OF SPRING.
Thou givest me flowers, thou givest me songs;- bring back
What wakest thou, Spring!-sweet voices in the woods,
And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,
The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
E’en as our hearts may be.
And the leaves greet thee, Spring !—the joyous leaves,
Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glad Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery And happy murmurs, running through the grass,
shade, Vol. V.26
Tell that thy footsteps pass.
And the bright waters- they too hear thy call,
Spring, the awakener ! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall
Makes melody, and in the forests deep, Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.
And flowers—the fairy-peopled world of flowers !
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
And penciling the wood anemone;
Glows with mute poesy.
But what awakest thou in the heart, O Spring!
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs? Thou that givest back so many a buried thing,
Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! Fresh songs
and scents break forth where'er thou art, What wakest thou in the heart?
Too much, oh! there too much !- we know not well
Wherefore it should be thus, yet roused by thee, What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep
cell, Gush for the faces we no more may see! How are we haunted, in the wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone!
Looks of familiar love, that never more,
Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door,
And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet! Spring ! ʼmidst the murmurs of thy flowering trees,
Why, why revivest thou these? Vain longings for the dead !- why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living
blooms? Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track
Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs? Yes! gentle spring; no sorrow dims thine air,
Breathed by our loved ones there!
THE ILLUMINATED CITY.
The hills all glow'd with a festive light,
I pass'd through the streets; there were throngs on
throngsLike sounds of the deep were their mingled songs; There was music forth from each palace borneA peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn;