Yea, once Immanuel's orphaned cry his universe hath shaken It went up single, echoless, "My God, I am forsaken !" It went up from the holy lips amid his lost creation, That of the lost no son should use those words of desola tion; That earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope, should mar not hope's fruition, And I, on Cowper's grave, should see his rapture, in a vision ! ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. The Sleep. "He giveth his beloved sleep."-Psalm cxxvii. 2. F all the thoughts of God that are OF Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, For gift or grace, surpassing this,— What would we give to our beloved? The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep, What do we give to our beloved? A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake,- THE SLEEP. Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; But never doleful dream again Shall break his happy slumber when He giveth his beloved sleep. O earth, so full of dreary noises ! His dews drop mutely on the hill; His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap; More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth his beloved sleep. Ay, men may wonder while they scan Confirmed in such a rest to keep; For me my heart, that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That secs through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Who giveth his beloved sleep. 329 And friends, dear friends, when it shall be Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall; He giveth his beloved sleep." ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. N The Sexton. IGH to a grave that was newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade; His work was done, and he paused to wait A relic of by-gone days was he, And his locks were gray as the foamy sea; "I gather them in; for man and boy, But come they stranger, or come they kin, "Many are with me, yet I'm alone; I'm King of the Dead, and I make my throne On a monument slab of marble cold My scepter of rule is the spade I hold. Come they from cottage, or come they from hall, Mankind are my subjects, all—all—all ! May they loiter in pleasure, or toilfully spin, I gather them in-I gather them in. THE GRAVE. "I gather them in, and their final rest Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast!"- Gather-gather-gather them in !" PARK BENJAMIN. 331 The Grave. 'HE grave, it is deep and soundless, THE And canopied over with clouds; And trackless, and dim, and boundless Is the unknown land that it shrouds. In vain may the nightingales warble The virgin, bereft at her bridal Of him she has loved, may weep; The wail of the orphan is idle, It breaks not the buried one's sleep. Yet everywhere else shall mortals And the heart that tempest and sorrow Translated by J. MANGAN. J. G. VON SALIS. If I had Thought. F I had thought thou couldst have died, IF I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be: And I on thee should look my last, And still upon that face I look, And think 't will smile again; And still the thought I will not brook, If thou couldst stay e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been I do not think, where'er thou art, And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore! CHARLES WOLFE. |