For, in the porch beneath her, to and fro,
A nurse walk'd singing with her babe in arms.
And many a passer-by look'd on the child
And praised its wondrous beauty, but still on
The old nurse troll'd her lullaby, and still,
Blest through her depths of soul by light there shining,
The mother in her revery mused on.
But lo! another traveller alighted!
And now, no more indifferent or calm,
The mother's breath comes quick, and with the blood Warm in her cheek and brow, she murmurs low, "Now, God be praised! I am no more alone
In knowing I've an angel for my child,
Chance he to look on't only!" With a smile
The tribute of a beauty-loving heart
To things from God new-moulded-would have pass'd
The poet, as the infant caught his eye;
But suddenly he turn'd, and with his hand.
Upon the nurse's arm, he stay'd her steps,
And gazed upon her burthen. 'Twas a child
In whose large eyes of blue there shone, indeed,
Something to waken wonder. Never sky
In noontide depth, or softly-breaking dawn-
Never the dew in new-born violet's cup,
Lay so entranced in purity! Not calm,
With the mere hush of infancy at rest,
The ample forehead, but serene with thought;
And by the rapt expression of the lips,
They seem'd scarce still from a cherubic hymn;
And over all its countenance there breathed
Benignity, majestic as we dream
Angels wear ever, before God. With gaze
Earnest and mournful, and his eyelids warm
With tears kept back, the poet kiss'd the child;
And chasten'd at his heart, as having pass'd
Close to an angel, went upon his way.
Soon after, to the broken choir in heaven This cherub was recall'd, and now the mother Bethought her, in her anguish, of the bard(Herself a far-off stranger, but his heart Familiar to the world,)-and wrote to tell him, The angel he had recognised that morn, Had fled to bliss again. The poet well Remember'd that child's ministry to him; And of the only fountain that he knew
For healing, he sought comfort for the mother. And thus he wrote:
Mourn not for the child from thy tenderness riven, Ere stain on its purity fell!
To thy questioning heart, lo! an answer from heaven : "IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?" "IT IS WELL!"
THEY tell me thou art come from a far world, Babe of my bosom! that these little arms,
Whose restlessness is like the spread of wings,
Move with the memory of flights scarce o'er-
That through these fringed lids we see the soul
Steep'd in the blue of its remember'd home;
And while thou sleep'st come messengers, they say,
Whispering to thee-and 'tis then I see
Upon thy baby lips that smile of heaven!
And what is thy far errand, my fair child?
Why away, wandering from a home of bliss,
To find thy way through darkness home again?
Wert thou an untried dweller in the sky?
Is there, betwixt the cherub that thou wert,
The cherub and the angel thou mayst be,
A life's probation in this sadder world?
Art thou with memory of two things only,
Music and light, left upon earth astray,
And, by the watchers at the gate of heaven,
Look'd for with fear and trembling?
Into my guiding hand this wanderer,
To lead her through a world whose darkling paths
I tread with steps so faltering-leave not me
To bring her to the gates of heaven, alone!
I feel my feebleness. Let these stay on-
The angels who now visit her in dreams!
Bid them be near her pillow till in death
The closed eyes look upon Thy face once more!
And let the light and music, which the world
Borrows of heaven, and which her infant sense
Hails with sweet recognition, be to her
A voice to call her upward, and a lamp
To lead her steps unto Thee!
I SADDEN when thou smilest to my smile,
Child of my love! I tremble to believe
That o'er the mirror of that eye of blue
The shadow of my heart will always pass ;-
A heart that, from its struggle with the world,
Comes nightly to thy guarded cradle home,
And, careless of the staining dust it brings,
Asks for its idol! Strange, that flowers of earth
Are visited by every air that stirs,
And drink in sweetness only, while the child
That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven,
May take a blemish from the breath of love,
And bear the blight forever.
With gladness at the gift of this fair child!
My life is bound up in her. But, oh God!
Thou know'st how heavily my heart at times
Bears its sweet burthen; and if thou hast given
To nurture such as mine this spotless flower,
To bring it unpolluted unto thee,
Take thou its love, I pray thee! Give it light-
Though, following the sun, it turn from me!-
But, by the chord thus wrung, and by the light
Shining about her, draw me to my child!
And link us close, oh God, when near to heaven! /
"The years of a man's life are threescore and ten."
Он, weary heart! thou'rt half-way home!
We stand on life's meridian height-
As far from childhood's morning come,
As to the grave's forgetful night.
Give Youth and Hope a parting tear-
Look onward with a placid brow-
Hope promised but to bring us here,
And Reason takes the guidance now-
One backward look-the last-the last!
One silent tear-for Youth is past!
Who goes with Hope and Passion back?
Who comes with me and Memory on?
Oh, lonely looks the downward track-
Joy's music hush'd-Hope's roses gone!
To Pleasure and her giddy troop
Farewell, without a sigh or tear!
But heart gives way, and spirits droop,
To think that Love may leave us here!
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