But unappalling seems

Even the awfulness of sleep like thine,

As fraught with heavenly dreams, And images less earthly than divine!

Or dost thou now partake

That dreamless trance, in love and mercy given, With sweet surprise to wake

A bright and blissful denizen of heaven.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

JANE TAYLOR.

WITH What unknown delight the mother smiled,
When this frail treasure in her arms she pressed!
Her prayer was heard-she clasped a living child,-
But how the gift transcends the poor request!
A child was all she asked, with many a vow:
Mother-behold the child an angel now!

Now in her Father's house she finds a place;
Or if to earth she take a transient flight,
'Tis to fulfil the purpose of his grace,

To guide thy footsteps to the world of light—

A ministering spirit sent to thee,

That where she is, there thou mayst also be.

LITTLE LEONARD'S LAST “GOOD

NIGHT."

"GOOD-NIGHT! good-night! I go to sleep," Murmured the little child ;

And, oh, the ray of heaven that broke
On the sweet lips that faintly spoke
That soft "Good-night!" and smiled.

That angel smile! that loving look
From the dim closing eyes!

The peace of that pure brow! but there-
Aye-on that brow, so young, so fair!
An awful shadow lies.

The gloom of evening-of the boughs
That o'er yon window wave-
Nay, nay-within these silent walls,
A deeper, darker shadow falls,
The twilight of the grave.

The twilight of the grave-for still
Fast comes the fluttering breath—

66

LITTLE LEONARD'S LAST GOOD-NIGHT."

One fading smile, one look of love,
A murmur, as from brooding dove-
"Good-night!"-And this is death!

Oh, who hath called thee "terrible!"
Mild angel! most benign!
Could mother's fondest lullaby
Have laid to rest more blissfully
That sleeping babe, than thine!

Yet this is death-the doom for all
Of Adam's race decreed-

"But this poor lamb-this little one!-
What had the guiltless creature done?”
Unhappy heart! take heed;

Though He is merciful as just

Who hears that fond appeal

He will not break the bruised reed,

He will not search the wounds that bleed-
He only wounds to heal.

"Let little children come to me," He cried, and to his breast

Folded them tenderly-to-day

He calls thine unshorn lamb away

To that securest rest!

Blackwood, 1833.

87

HUMAN LIFE.

ROGERS.

[EXTRACT.]

NOR many moons o'er hill and valley rise Ere to the gate with nymph-like step she flies, And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy, With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy, To meet him coming; theirs through every year Pure transports, such as each to each endear! And laughing eyes and laughing voices fill Their halls with gladness. She, when all are still, Comes and undraws the curtain as they lie, In sleep, how beautiful!-he, when the sky Gleams, and the wood sends up its harmony, When gathering round his bed, they climb to share His kisses, and with gentle violence there Break in upon a dream not half so fair, Up to the hill-top leads their little feet; Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meet The stag-herd on its march; perchance to hear The otter rustling in the sedgy mere ;

Or to the echo near the Abbot's tree

That gave him back his words of pleasantry

When the house stood, no merrier man than he!
And as they wander with a keen delight,
If but a leveret catch their quicker sight

Down a green alley, or a squirrel then

Climb the gnarled oak, and look and climb again,
If but a moth flit by, an acorn fall,

He turns their thoughts to Him who made them all ;
These with unequal footsteps following fast,
These clinging by his cloak, unwilling to be last.

The shepherd on Tornaro's misty brow,
And the swart seaman, sailing far below,
Not undelighted watch the morning ray
Purpling the orient-till it breaks away,
And burns and blazes into glorious day!
But happier still is he who bends to trace
That sun, the soul, just dawning in the face;
The burst, the glow, the animating strife,
The thoughts and passions stirring into life ;
The forming utterance, the inquiring glance,
The giant waking from his tenfold trance,

Till
up he starts as conscious whence he came,
And all is light within the trembling frame!