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Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides
A ruddier juice the Briton hides
In his fortress by the lake.
Build high the fire, till the panther leap
And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep
"OH father, let us hence-for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
A winged giant sails the sky;
“Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower; Here, where the boughs hang close around, We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,` Has swept the broad heaven clear again."
"Nay, father, let us haste-for see,
That horrid thing with horned brow,His wings o'erhang this very tree,
He scowls upon us now;
“Hush, child;” but, as the father spoke, Downward the livid firebolt came, Close to his ear the thunder broke,
And, blasted by the flame,
The child lay dead; while dark and still.
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.
THE CHILD'S FUNERAL.
FAIR is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore,
Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies; The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore, As clear and bluer still before thee lies.
Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire,
Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps; And murmuring Naples, spire o'ertopping spire, Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps.
Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue,
Or like the mountain frost of silvery white.
Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree,
And sward of violets, breathing to and fro, Mingle, and wandering out upon the sea,
Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow.
Yet even here, as under harsher climes,
Tears for the loved and early lost are shed; That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes, Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead.
Here once a child, a smiling playful one,
All the day long caressing and caressed,
The father strove his struggling grief to quell,
When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep.
Within an inner room his couch they spread,
His funeral couch; with mingled grief and love, They laid a crown of roses on his head,
And murmured, "Brighter is his crown above."
They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet,
And now the hour is come, the priest is there;