Who walked in youthful beauty, the desired
Of many hearts, object of tender love.—
O he was fair, his cheek had stolen the dye
Of May's first bud,-his eye spake the delight
Of artless boyhood. On his open brow
Sat the calm look of cheerfulness, and there
Truth seemed to dwell. None knew him but to love:
Yea, he rejoiced in pure affection's ray,
That on his warm heart shone, reflecting thence
Its holy peace, its true tranquillity.
He looked abroad to heaven in conscious joy,
And saw his sun yet in its morning course.
The stern death-angel came and he was not!
A heart-wrung father pressed his snowy lip,
A mother agonized upon her child,—
The grave received him,—I awoke and wept.
IS IT NOT A LITTLE ONE.
GENESIS, XIX. 20.
Or all the varied cheats in life,
To which misguided mortals run,
There's none with sorer evils rife,
When strong allurement leads astray,
How fair the web by flattery spun-
The ready opiate smooths the way,
Sure "Is it not a little one?"
Curst avarice, to itself unkind,
Would even life's best blessings shun, And hoarding pelf, deceive the mind, With "Is it not a little one?"
The youth, debauched in folly's maze,
Health, fame, and fortune, all undone,
Too late the whispering cheat betrays,
Of "Is it not a little one?"
Intemperance, murdering life, and soul,
Would fain reflection's moment shun;
And says: replenishing the bowl,
Sure "Is it not a little one?"
Beguiled by love's seducive strain,
The hapless maiden is undone ;
While listening to the falsehood vain,
Of "Is it not a little one?"
Beware fond youth, its fell control,
This fatal source of ruin shun;
Reflect in time, nor cheat the soul,
With "Is it not a little one?"
WEARIED with play, that night, my Mortimer Betimes had sunk to slumber, and he now Quietly nestled on his pillow, that
To innocence and childhood lent sweet visions.
He slept, unheeding the wild storm which held,
That winter night, rude empire. All within
Was quiet,-midnight's stern serenity
Dwelt in each chamber, and that house was still
And calm, in the repose of loneliness.
He is my eldest, and a parent may
Indulge his love. Wrapt in his dreams he lay,
Tranquil and happy, seeming. He is fair,
Yet fairer seemed he than his wont in sleep.
His rounded arms were folded, as if toil
Were ended now, and he in balmy rest
Should find new vigour for the coming day.
His flaxen hair lay carelessly upon
His polished brow, and there many a curl
Rioted in luxuriance. The red lips,
That pouted at my lightest kiss, half closed,
Spake to beholders that within was peace.
Near him slept Henry, younger, frailer too;
A tender plant that seemed not formed to bear
The ruder winds of life. He slumbered where
He coveted to slumber-in her arms
Who
gave him life. A mother's love was there
To shield her darling boy; and dearer now
To her sad bosom was that little one,
And closer to her heart she pressed him, as if fear
Had taught her, he too, should that couch forsake.
For one was not-William, that lovely one-
William, that constantly had slumbered there
With his twin-brother, shared not now that bed:
He too had gone to rest-a rest how sweet-
How holy!-In a farther room he lay,
Wrapt in the robe of whiteness that adorns
Departed innocence. O, how composed, Sublime, was that deep sleep! Still he slept on In all the beauty, all the loveliness
That late adorned him. Sickness had not stolen
One grace that death had not threefold restored;
He lay before me in his coffin, there
So tranquil, that unto my stricken heart
I said: he is not dead,-my boy but sleeps.-
Aye, long might I believe so, were it not
For the fixed impress, still—something severe-
Even in smiles, that death doth always wear.
ERE Eden blossomed wild,
Or earth received a form,
Ere the Eternal voice
Called sunshine from the storm;
Ere on chaotic deep
The empire of old night
God looked, and tumult fled,
God spake, and all was Light;
Music, first born of heaven,
Left not her natal bower,
'Till Ages' chronicler
Proclaimed Creation's hour;
The strain of harmony
The depths had never heard,
There Silence reared her throne, Till Light and Song appeared.
Then in their choral spheres
Rejoicing planets ran,
Then, sovereign of the world,
Arose immortal Man!
Then heard the Star of Morn,
Along the wavy air,
Soft strains of Music float
That Seraphim might share;
Unearthly was the sound,
It spake to raptured sight;
And subtle sense received
The Melody of Light.
Sweet was the dulcet strain,
Loud the ascending song,
That o'er the eternal plain
Mellifluous rolled along;
And, say! when Deity
Alone sublimely stood,
And blest a virgin world
And called his labour "good"— Broke not forth brighter rays
Of glory, o'er the whole?
Say, woke not He a chord
Of Music, to the soul!
Ages passed by, and He,
The Paschal Lamb was slain;
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