ON A MOTHER AND CHILD SLEEPING. BARRY CORNWALL. NIGHT, gaze, but send no sound! No wind! no murmuring showers! No thoughts nor dreams of flowers! Time's step is all unheard: Heaven's stars bright silence keep: All's still;-they sleep, they sleep! O Life! O Night! O Time! Thus ever round them creep! From pain, from hate, from crime, SONNET. H. M. R. WOULD thy young soul, my child! could speak to me; Say, camest thou forth at the supreme command Of thy divine and pure intelligence, SONNET. TO MY LITTLE EMILY. H. M. R. SWEET the last cuckoo's note on summer night The last-born violet, peeps forth to day, 'Mid moss and leaves, with scattered raindrops bright. But who the thrilling sense of joy can speak, TO A LITTLE BOY ASLEEP. R. R. How beautiful, my sleeping child, Art thou, and all that breathes around thee, When slumber such as now is thine Hath, with its silken fetters bound thee. The atmosphere of peace is here, No throb of woe, no pang Rests undisturbed on life's calm ocean. SONG OVER A CHILD. BARRY CORNWALL. DREAM, baby, dream! The stars are glowing. Hear'st thou the stream? Sleep, baby, sleep, Till dawn to-morrow! Why shouldst thou weep, Who know'st not sorrow? Too soon come pains and fears; Too soon a cause for tears: So from thy future years No sadness borrow! |