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We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.
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!
TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED HOW I FELT
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.
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,
Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
Inter fila cantans orat,
Blande, veni, somnule.
SLEEP, sweet babe! my cares beguiling;
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
And such my infant's latest sigh!
STRETCHED on a mouldered Abbey's broadest
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep-
The fern was pressed beneath her hair,
That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
MARK this holy chapel well!
The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Here, first, an infant to her breast,
And kissed the babe, and blessed the day, And prayed as mothers use to pray.
"Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give
Through him than through an armed power.
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!
To Nature and to Holy Writ
Alone did God the boy commit:
His soul found wings, and soared aloft!
The straining oar and chamois chase
On wave and wind the boy would toss,
He knew not that his chosen hand,
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
THE shepherds went their hasty way,
And now they checked their eager tread,
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Blest Mother! thou shalt sing the song
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she prest;
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
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?