THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP. SUGGESTED BY A MONUMENT OF CHANTREY'S. THOU sleepest-but when wilt thou wake, fair child? When the fawn awakes in the forest wild? When the lark's wing mounts with the breeze of morn? When the first rich breath of the rose is born?- Too deep and still on thy soft-seal'd eyes; Not when the fawn wakes-not when the lark Thou 'rt gone from us, bright one! - that thou shouldst die, And life be left to the butterfly!' Thou'rt gone as a dewdrop is swept from the bough: 1A butterfly, as if resting on a flower, is sculptured on the monument. THE SUNBEAM. THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall- Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee? 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, Thou art streaming on through their green arcades; And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. I look'd on the mountains- -a vapour lay 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, 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 glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery shade, VOL. V.- 26 And happy murmurs, running through the grass, 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! But what awakest thou in the heart, O Spring! 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! 'midst 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, There were lamps hung forth upon tower and tree, I pass'd through the streets; there were throngs on throngs― Like sounds of the deep were their mingled songs; There was music forth from each palace borneA peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn; |