Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, So beautiful and deep. "Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while, And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, How prayed I that my father's land might be "And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; And oh my last caress Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there She stood beside the well her God had given To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead of her child until he laughed THE WIDOW OF NAIN. THE Roman sentinel stood helmed and tall Upon his spear the soldier lean'd, and kept His idle watch, and, as his drowsy dream Was broken by the solitary foot Of some poor mendicant, he rais'd his head To curse him for a tributary Jew, And slumberously dozed on. 'Twas now high noon. The dull, low murmur of a funeral Went through the city-the sad sound of feet Shook off his slumber, and gazed earnestly Up the wide street along whose pavéd way And by the crowd that in the burning sun Walk d with forgetful sadness, 'twas of one Mourn'd with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent His spear-point downwards as the bearers past Falter'd with weakness, and a broken moan She had no kinsmen. She had lived alone A widow with one son. He was her all The only tie she had in the wide world And he was dead. They could not comfort her. Jesus drew near to Nain as from the gate Thick the white dust of travel. He had come The grapes of Palestine hung ripe and wild, |