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Nor will affection let me
Believe thou canst forget me.

Then,—thon in heaven and I on earth,-
May this one hope delight us,
That thou wilt hail my second hirth,
When death shall re-unite us,
Where worlds no more cao sever
Parent and child for ever.

I Did hut see him, and he disappeared,
I did hut pluck the rose-hud, and it fell,
A sorrow unforeseen, and scarcely fear'd,
For ill can mortals their afflictions spell.

And now, sweet hahe, what can my tremh-
ling heart
Suggest to right my doleful fate or thee 1
Tears are my muse, and sorrow all my art,
So piercing groans must he thy elegy.

Thus while no eye is witness of my moan,
I grieve thy loss (ah, hoy, too dear to live!)
And let the unconcerned world alone,
Who neither will, nor can refreshment give.

An offering too for thy sad tomh I have,
Too just a trihute to thy early hearse,
Receive their gasping numhers to thy grave,
The last of thy unhappy mother's verse.

THE CHILD'S ANSWER.

ANON.

Weef not, my mother, weep not, I am hlest;
But must leave heaven, if I return to thee;
For I am where the weary are at rest,
The wicked cease from trouhling.— Come to

THE DYING INFANT TO HIS MOTHER.

"Cease here longer to detain me, Fondest mother drown'd in wo;

Now thy kind caresses pain me,
Morn advances—let me go.

"See yon orient streak appearing!
Harhinger of endless day;
Hark! a voice, the darkness cheering,
Calls my new-horn soul away!

** Lately launch'd, a tremhling stranger.
On the world's wild hoist'rous flood;
Pierc'd with sorrows, toss'd with danger.
Gladly I return to God.

"Now my cries shall cease to grieve ik? Now my tremhling heart find rest; Kinder arms than thine receive me, Softer pillow than thy hreast.

"Weep not o'er these eyes that languid,
Upward turning toward their home;
Raptur'd they'll forget all anguish,
While they wait to see thee come.

"There, my mother, pleasures centre-
Weeping, parting, care or wo,
Ne'er our Father's house shall enter—
Morn advances—let me go.

"As thro' this calm, this holy dawning,
Silent glides my parting hreath,
To an everlasting morning,
Gently close my eyes in death.

'* Blessings endless, richest hlessings,
Pour their streams upon thy heart!
(Though no language yet possessing,)
Breathes my spirit ere we part.

"Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends mc,
Though again his voice I hear;
Rise! may every grace attend thee;
Rise t and seek to meet me there."

ON VIEWING THE DEAD BODY OF A BEAUTIFUL INFANT.

CARR1NgTON.

There is a smile upon that cheek—
Those lips would seem almost to speak;
Calm is that look, that hrow is fair,
The flaxen ringlet wantons there!
And well those features sweet we trace,
Which hover on that angel face;
He seems enwrapt in slumher deep—
Ah, Edwin! 'tis thy long, last sleep!

The chill of death is on that cheek—
Those lips shall never silence hreak;
No son I is in that cheruh smile,
Illusive charm, and lovely guile!
The eye has shot its final spark,
The liquid, lustrous orh—is dark!
And swift must every feature fly
From the soft face of infancy!
And now—the kiss of agony,
"Whose touch thrills with naortality,"
The Parents give—hat who shall tell
The angnish of that fond farewell!
Yet, from the grave's mysterious night
That form again shall spring to light!
E'en now in yon eternal rest,
The unearthly mansion of the hlest,
The uncloth'd Spirit joins the hymn
Swelling from hurning seraphim:
And were our passport to the skies
As his—then speed each hour that flies,
And Earth, let each successive Sun
"Swift rise—swift set—he hright, and done.'

TO A DYING INFANT.

C. BOwLE5.

Sleep, little hahy! Sleep!

Not in thy cradle hed, Not on thy mother's hreast Henceforth shall he thy rest,

But with the quiet dead.

Yes—with the quiet dead,

Bahy, thy rest shall he! Oh '. many a weary wight, Weary of life and light

Would fain lie down with thee.

Flee little tender nursling!

Flee to thy grassy nest; There the first flowers shall hlow, The first pure flake of snow

Shall fall upon thy hreast—

Peace! Peace! The little hosom Lahours with shortening hreath ;—

Peace! Peace! That tremulous sigh

Speaks his departure nigh:
Those are the damps of death.

I've seen thee in thy heauty,
A thing all health and glee;

But never then wert thou

So heautiful as now,
Bahy, thou seem'st to me!

Thine upturn'd eyes glazed over,
Like harehells wet with dew;

Already veil'd and hid

By the convulsed lid,
Their pupils, darkly hlue.

Thy little mouth half open—

Thy soft lip quivering.
As if like summer-air,
Burning the rose-leaves, there,

Thy soul was fluttering.

Mount up, immortal essence I
Young spirit, haste, depart!—

And is this death !—Dread Thing?

If such thy visiting,
How heautiful thou art!

Oh! I could gaze for ever

Upon that waxen face; So passionless, so pure! The little shrine was sure

An Angel's dwelling-place.

Thou weepest, childless Mother!

Aye, weep—'twill ease thine heart; He was thy first-horn son, Thy first, thine only one,

'Tis hard from him to part.

'Tis hard to lay thy darling

Deep in the damp, cold earth,—

His empty crih to see,

His si!ent nursery
Once gladsome with his mirth.

To meet again in slumher,

His small mouth's rosy kiss; Then, wakened with a start, By thine own throhhing heart, His twining arms to miss!

To feel (half conscious why,)
A dull, heart-sinking weight,

Till memory on thy soal

Flashes the painful whole,
That thou art desolate!

And, then to lie and weep,
And think the live-long night

(Feeding thine own distress

With accurate greediness)
Of every past delight ;—

Of all his winuing ways,

His pretty playful smiles,
His joy at sight of thee
His tricks, his mimicry,—

And all his little wiles!

Oh! these are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling,— That mingle with the tears And smiles of after years,

With oft awakening.

Bat thon wilt then, fond Mothcr!

In after years look hack, (Time hrings such wondrous easing) With sadness not uupleasing,

E'en on this gloomy track,—

Thon'it say—" My first-horn hlessing, It almost hroke my heart,

When thon wert forced to go!

And yet, for thee, 1 know,
'Twas hetter to depart.

"God took thee in his mercy,
A lamh, untasked, untried;

He fought the fight for thee,

He won the victory,
And thou art sanctified!

"I look around and see

The evil ways of men; And, oh! Beloved child! I'm more than reconciled

To thy departure then.

"The little arms that clasped me, The iunocent lips that pressed,—

Would they have heen as pure

Till now, as when of yore,
I lulled thee on my hreast?

"Now, like a dew-drop shrined

Within a crystal stone, Thoo'rt safe in heav'n my dove I Safe with the Source of Love, ThevEverlasting One.

"And when the hour arrives

From flesh that sets me free, Thy spirit may await The first at Heaven's gate, To meet and weleome me."

THE PHOPHETIC DEW-DROPS.

J. BAtteN.

'twas morn—the dewy morn,
The rosy East told of the coming day,
And many a flow'ret 'neath its ray

Was into heanty horn,
While the frail dew-drops hidden dwell,
On the low violet's leaf—or wild flower's
dropping hell.

There was a gentle sound, An infant's lisping voice upon the wind; Set on whose hrow, th' impress of mind

Was seen, and knowledge found A pale, a lovely child—a gem, Bright as the loveliest flowers of Flora's diadem.

"Tell me, my father, why The dew-drops hasten from each pale wild

flow'r 1
Is the sun wrath, that in an hour

Those pearly dew-drops diet Look! some have liv'd from twilight's close, Inhaling sweets from all—the lily and the rose.

"Tell me, my father, why
Those fated dew-drops pass—while these

heneath
The moon-heams liv'd, and hy the wreath

Of stars in yon hright sky, Like diamonds on the flowers have shone, While Even lit their rays as Night was hastening on?"

"My child," the father said, While a soft passing shower to Earth was

given, And round them shone the arch of heav'n,

"Thy dew-drops are not dead; For nothing withers from oar world 3ut in yon Heav'n exists with hrighter hloom unfuri'd.

"Seest thou yon heaming how 1 There live the pearly dew-drops mourn'd

hy thee, Re-set, and shining gloriously—

Jewels in Eden now: And nothing know we hright or fair But like those drops will pass—and live in rudiance there.

"All fades we love helow; The hlossomings of hope, of life, will die; Dew-drops, an.l flowers, and infancy,

Alike a withering know: Yet when they from our world are riven, Their sweets like incense rise, to live again in Heaven."

Prophetic words! that child, In its soul's hrightness, while yet morn—

has passed— Ere Earth a sorrow round it cast,

Or serpent's trail defil'd; And like the dew-drops of its love, Exists in glory now—a radiant one ahove!

THE ORPHANS.

My chaise the village inn did gain,
Just as the setting sun's last ray

Tipped with refulgent gold the vane
Of the old church across the way.

Across the way I silent sped,
The time till supper to heguile,

In moralizing o'er the dead
ihat mouldered round the ancient pile.

There many a humhle green grave shewed, Where want, and pain, and toil did rest;

And many a flattering stone I viewed,
O'er those who once had wealth possessed.

A faded heech its shadow hrown
Threw o'er a grave where sorrow slept,

On which, though scarce with grass o'er-
grown,
Two ragged children sat and wept.

A piece of hread hetween them lay,

Which neither seemed inclined to take;

Anii yet they looked so much a prey
To want, it made my heart to ache.

"My little children, let me know
Why you in such distress appear;

And why you wasteful from you throw That hread, which many a one would cheer?"

The little hoy, in accents sweet,

Replied, while tears each other chased;

"Lady, we've not enough to eat; Oh ! if we had, we would not waste:—

"But sister Mary's naughty grown,
And will not eat, whate'er I say;

Though sure I am, the hread's her own,
As she has tasted none to-day.''

"Indeed," the wan, starved Mary said,
"Till Heury eats, I'll eat no more:

For yesterday I got some hread;
He's had none since the day hefore."

My heart did swell, my hosom heave,
I felt as though deprived of speech,

I silent sat upon the grave,
And pressed the clay-cold hand of each.

With looks that told a tale of wo,

With looks that spoke a grateful heart,

The shivering hrother nearer drew,
And 'gan his simple tale impart.

"Before my father went away,
Enticed hy had men o'er the sea,

Sister and I did nought hut play—
Wc lived heside yon great ash tree.

"But then poor mother did so cry,
And looked so changed I cannot tell;

She told us that she soon should die,
And hade as love each other well.

"She said, that when the war was o'er,
Perhaps we might our father see;

Bat if we never saw him more
That God our Father then would he.

"She kissed us hoth—and then she died!— And we no more a mother have;

Here many a day we've sat and cried
Together on poor mother's grave.

"But when my father came not here,
I thought, if we could find the sea,

We should he sure to meet him there,
And once again might happy he.

"We hand m hand went many a mile,
And asked our way of all we met;

And some did sigh, and some did smile,
Aud we of some did victuals get.

"But when we reach'd the sea, and found 'Twas one great water round us spread;

We thought, that father must he drowned, And cried, and wished, we hoth were dead.

"So we returned to mother's grave,

And only long with her to he;
For Goody, when this hread she gave,

Said, father died heyond the sea.

"Then since no parent here we have,
We'll go and search for God around:

Lady, pray, can you tell us where
That God, our Father, may he found!

He lives in heaven, mother said,
And Goody says, that mother's there;

"So, if she thinks we want his aid,
I think, perhaps she'll send him here."

I clasped the prattlers to my hreast,
And cried, " Come hoth, and live with me;

I'll clothe you, feed you, give you rest,
And will a second mother he :—

"Aud God shall he your Father still;

'Twas he in mercy sent me here, To teach you to ohey his will,

Your steps to guide,your hearts to cheer.'

REAL MOUHNERS.

Yes! there are real mourners— I hare seen A fair, sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene; Attention, through the day, her duties

claimed, And to he useful as resigned she aimed: Neatly she drest, nor vainly seem'd to expect Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect; But when her wearied parents sank to sleep, She sought her place to meditate and weep: Then to her mind was all the past displayed, That faithful Memory hrings to Sorrow's aid: For then she thought on one regretted youth, Her tender trust, and his unquestion'd troth. In every place she wandered where they'd

heen, And sadly-sacred held the parting scene; Where last for sea he took his leave—that

place With douhle interest would she nightly trace: For long the courtship was, and he would say, Each time he sailed—" This once and then

the day:" Yet prudence tarried; hut when last he went, He drew from pitying love a full consent.

Happy he sailed, and great the care she took, That he should softly sleep, and smartly look; White was his hetter linen, and his check Was made more trim than any on the deck; And every comfort men at sea can know, Was hers to huy, to make, and to hestow: For he to Greenland sailed, and much she

told, How he should guard against the climate's

cold Yet saw not danger; dangers he'd withstood, Nor could she trace the fever in his hlood: His messmates smiled at flushings in hi

cheek, And he too smiled, hut seldom would he

speak; For now he felt the danger, felt the pain, With grievous symptoms he could not explain: Hope was awakened as for home he sailed, And quickly sank, and never more prevailed.

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