We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead
(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear),
I think that I should struggle to believe

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st moan, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve,

While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!

SONNET.

TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED HOW I FELT

WHEN

NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME.

So for the mother's sake the child was dear, And dearer was the mother for the child.

THE

CHARL HARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first

I scanned that face of feeble infancy! For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst

All I had been, and all my child might be! But when I saw it on its mother's arm,

And hanging at her bosom (she the while Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile) Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm Impressed a father's kiss: and all beguiled

Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, I seemed to see an angel form appear― "Twas even thine, beloved woman mild!

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE HYMN.

COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN, IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY.

DORMI, Jesu! Mater ridet

Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!

Si non dormis, Mater plorat,

Inter fila cantans orat,

Blande, veni, somnule.

ENGLISH.

SLEEP, sweet babe! my cares beguiling;
Mother sits beside thee smiling;
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
Singing as her wheel she turneth :
Come, soft slumber, balmily!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

ITS
TS balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent satiety!

And such my infant's latest sigh!
O tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here a pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.

MELANCHOLY.

A FRAGMENT.

STRETCHED on a mouldered Abbey's broadest

wall,

Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep-
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep.

The fern was pressed beneath her hair,
The dark green adder's tongue was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
And her bent forehead worked with troubled

thought.
Strange was the dream-

TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE.
IMITATED FROM STOLBERG.

I.

MARK this holy chapel well!

The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Stood his parents' marriage-bed.

II.

Here, first, an infant to her breast,
Him his loving mother prest;

And kissed the babe, and blessed the day, And prayed as mothers use to pray.

III.

"Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give
The child thy servant still to live!"
But God had destined to do more

Through him than through an armed power.

IV.

God gave him reverence of laws,

Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause

A spirit to his rocks akin,

The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein!

V.

To Nature and to Holy Writ

Alone did God the boy commit:
Where flashed and roared the torrent, oft

His soul found wings, and soared aloft!

VI.

The straining oar and chamois chase
Had formed his limbs to strength and grace:

On wave and wind the boy would toss,
Was great, nor knew how great he was!

VII.

He knew not that his chosen hand,
Made strong by God, his native land
Would rescue from the shameful yoke
Of Slavery-the which he broke !

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

I.

THE shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:

And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe that at her bosom clung,
A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

II.

They told her how a glorious light,

Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Had shone around, suspending night!

Blest Mother! thou shalt sing the song
The Heavens sang :-Messiah's birth!
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

III.

She listened to the tale divine,

And closer still the Babe she prest;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast;

Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

IV.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story,Did'st thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?