To love when he was slumbering at her side In his unconscious infancy— "So still! 'Tis a soft sleep! How beautiful he lies, With his fair forehead, and the rosy veins Playing so freshly in his sunny cheek! How could they say that he would die! Oh God! I could not lose him! I have treasured all "Yet so still !— How like this breathless slumber is to death! I could believe that in that bosom now There were no pulse-it beats so languidly! I cannot see it stir; but his red lip! Death would not be so very beautiful! And that half smile-would death have left that there? -And should I not have felt that he would die? And have I not wept over him?—and prayed Morning and night for him?-and could he die? Many long years to come, and this fair hair Be of a deeper blue when he is grown ; And he will be so tall, and I shall look And smiled, as if 'twere mockery to think -Suddenly Her hand shrunk from him, and the colour fled From her fix'd lip, and her supporting knees Were shook beneath her child. Her hand had touch'd His forehead, as she dallied with his hair— And put her lip to his-and look'd again N Fearfully on him—and then, bending low, She whisper'd in his ear, " My son !-My son !" Broke on the stillness, and he lay there still The man of God came forth, and led the child The music of his gentle voice once more! ABSALOM. THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves, Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems, King David's limbs were weary. He had fled From far Jerusalem; and now he stood, With his faint people, for a little rest They gather'd round him on the fresh green bank, And the poor common words of courtesy |