I SAW him at his sport erewhile,

The bright exulting boy,

Like summer's lightning came the smile
Of his young spirit's joy;

A flash that wheresoe'er it broke,
To life undreamt of beauty woke.

His fair locks waved in sunny play,
By a clear fountain's side,
Where jewel-coloured pebbles lay
Beneath the shallow tide,

And pearly spray at times would meet

The glancing of his fairy feet.

He twined him wreaths of all spring-flowers,
Which drank that streamlet's dew;

He flung them o'er the wave in showers,
Till gazing, scarce I knew

Which seemed more pure, or bright, or wild, The singing fount or laughing child.

To look on all that joy and bloom
Made earth one festal scene,
Where the dull shadow of the tomb
Seemed as it ne'er had been.

How could one image of decay
Steal o'er the dawn of such clear day?

I saw once more that aspect bright—
The boy's meek head was bowed
In silence o'er the Book of Light,
And like a golden cloud,-

The still cloud of a pictured sky-
His locks drooped round it lovingly.

And if my heart had deemed him fair,
When in the fountain-glade,
A creature of the sky and air,

Almost on wings he played;
Oh! how much holier beauty now
Lit the young human being's brow!

The being born to toil, to die,

To break forth from the tomb, Unto a nobler destiny

Than waits the skylark's plume!

I saw him, in that thoughtful hour,
Win the first knowledge of his dower.

The soul, the awakening soul I saw,

My watching eye could trace
The shadows of its new-born awe,

Sweeping o'er that fair face,

As o'er some flower might pass the shade
By some dread angel's pinions made!

The soul, the mother of deep fears,
Of high hopes infinite,

Of glorious dreams, mysterious tears,
Of sleepless inner sight;

Lovely, but solemn, it arose,
Unfolding what no more might close.

The red-leaved tablets,* undefiled,
As yet, by evil thought-

Oh! little dreamed the brooding child

Of what within me wrought,

While his young heart first burned and stirred,

And quivered to the eternal word.

And reverently my spirit caught

The reverence of his gaze;

* "All this and more than this is now eugraved upon the red

leaved tablets of my heart."-HAYWOOD.

AN INFANT'S LAST SLEEP.

ANONYMOUS.

Go to thy sleep, my child,
Go to thy dreamless bed,
Gentle and undefiled,

With blessings on thy head,

Fresh roses in thy hand,

Buds on thy pillow laid, Haste from this fearful land,

Where flowers so quickly fade.

Before thy heart hath learned

In waywardness to stray,

Before thy feet have turned

The dark and downward way;

Ere sin hath seared thy breast
Or sorrow woke the tear,
Rise, and secure thy rest

In yon celestial sphere.