« PreviousContinue »
Strange look'd it there!-the willow stream'd
There came an eve of festal hours-
On sparks of dew soft colours flung,
And bright forms glanc'd--a fairy show-
Under the blossoms to and fro.
But one, a lone one, midst the throng,
He was a youth of dusky mien,
Of erested brow, and long black hair-
And slowly, sadly, mov'd his plumes,
To him, to him, its rustling spoke,
Aye, to his ear that native tone
Had something of the sea-wave's moan!
His mother's cabin home, that lay
Where feathery cocoas fring'd the bay ;
The conch-note heard along the shore ;-
Oh! scorn him not !-the strength, whereby
The patriot girds himself to die,
These have one fountain deep and clear—
The same whence gush'd that child-like tear!
THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP.
SUGGESTED BY A MONUMENT OF CHANTREY'S.
THOU sleepest--but when wilt thou wake, fair child?— When the fawn awakes in the forest wild?
When the lark's wing mounts with the breeze of morn? When the first rich breath of the rose is born ?——
Lovely thou sleepest, yet something lies
Not when the fawn wakes, not when the lark
On the crimson cloud of the morn floats dark
Grief with vain passionate tears hath wet
The hair, shedding gleams from thy pale brow yet;
Thy meek-dropt eyelids and quiet breast;
And the glad spring, calling out bird and bee,
Thou'rt gone from us, bright one!--that thou shouldst die,
And life be left to the butterfly !*
Thou'rt gone, as a dew-drop is swept from the
Oh! for the world where thy home is now!
Beautiful dust! when we look on thee?
*A butterfly, as if resting on a flower, is sculptured on the monu