Hail! CHILD OF LOVE!-I linger yet
Around thy couch, where slumber sweet
Hangs on thine eyelids' living shroud;
And thoughts and dreamings, thickly crowd
Upon the mind, like gleams of light
Which sweep along the darksome night,
Lurid and strange, all fearful sent
In flashings o'er the firmament!
Oh! wake not from that tranquil sleep!
Too soon 'twill break, and thou shalt weep,
Such is thy destiny and doom,
O'er this long past and long to come;
Earth's mockery, guilt, and nameless wo;
The pangs which thou can'st only know;
All crowded in a little span,
The being of the creature Man!
Ah! little deemest thou my child,
The way of life is dark and wild;
Its sunshine, but a light, whose play
Serves but to dazzle and betray;
Weary and long-its end, the tomb,
Where darkness spreads her wings of gloom!
That resting place of things which live,
The goal, of all that earth can give !
It may be, that the dreams of fame,
Proud Glory's plume, the warrior's name,
Shall lure thee to the field of blood;
There like a god, war's fiery flood
May bear thee on! while far above,
Thy crimson banners proudly move,
Like the red clouds which skirt the sun,
When the fierce tempest-day is done!
Or lead thee to a cloistered cell,
Where Learning's votaries lonely dwell;
The midnight lamp and brow of care;
The frozen heart that mocks despair;
Consumption's fires to burn thy cheek;
The brain that throbs, but will not break;
The travail of the soul, to gain
A name, and die—alas! in vain!
Thou reckest not sweet slumberer, there,
Of this world's crimes; of many a snare
To catch the soul; of pleasures wild,
Friends false-foes dark-and hearts beguiled;
Of Passion's ministers who sway
With iron sceptre, all who stray;
Of broken hearts-still loving on,
When all is lost, and changed, and gone!
What is it, that thou wilt not prove?
Power, Wealth, Dominion, Grandeur, Love-
All the soul's idols in their turn!
And find each false, yet wildly burn
To grasp at all-and love the cheat;
Smile, when the ravening vultures eat
Into thy very bosom's core,
And drink up that-which is not gore!
Thy tears shall flow, and thou shalt weep
As he has wept who eyes thy sleep,
But weeps no more-his heart is cold,
Warped, sickened, seared, with woes untold.
And be it so! the clouds which roll
Dark, heavy o'er my troubled soul,
Bring with them lightnings which illume,
To shroud the mind in deeper gloom!
But no! dear boy, my earnest prayer
Shall call on heaven to bless thee here!
Long may'st thou live to love thy kind-
Brave, generous, of a lofty mind!
Thy Father live again in thee,
Thy Mother long her virtues see
Brightly reflected forth in thine—
Her solace in life's sad decline.
Sleep on sleep on! but oh, my soul,
This is not slumber's soft control!
Boy!-boy! awake!—that struggling cry
So faint and low-that agony !
The long, sunk, heavy gasp and groan!
And oh that desolate, last moan!-
My GOD! the infant spirit's gone !
Are there no tears?-dark-dark-alone!
'Tis past! farewell! I little thought
The mockeries which my fancy wrought,
From fate's dark book were rudely torn!—
That clouds would darken o'er thy morn!
That death's stern hand would sweep away
The flower just springing to the day!
But wounded hearts, must still bleed on!
Enough, enough-GOD'S WILL BE DONE!
He leaned beneath the casement, and his gaze Went forth upon the night, as if his thoughts Held dark communion with its secret shadows; And as the light stole in among the leaves, There might be traced upon his marble brow The lines that grief, not time, had written there. He rested on his harp, and as his hand
Swept lightly o'er the strings, its sadden'd tone Seem'd like the echo of some spirit's moan.
Lady! the dark long night
Of grief and sorrow,
That knows no cheerful light,
No sun-bright morrow,
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