I SAW him at his sport erewhile, The bright exulting boy, Like summer's lightning came the smile A flash that wheresoe'er it broke, His fair locks waved in sunny play, And pearly spray at times would meet The glancing of his fairy feet. He twined him wreaths of all spring-flowers, He flung them o'er the wave in showers, Which seemed more pure, or bright, or wild, The singing fount or laughing child. To look on all that joy and bloom How could one image of decay I saw once more that aspect bright— The still cloud of a pictured sky- And if my heart had deemed him fair, Almost on wings he played; The being born to toil, to die, To break forth from the tomb, Unto a nobler destiny Than waits the skylark's plume! I saw him, in that thoughtful hour, The soul, the awakening soul I saw, My watching eye could trace Sweeping o'er that fair face, As o'er some flower might pass the shade The soul, the mother of deep fears, Of glorious dreams, mysterious tears, Lovely, but solemn, it arose, The red-leaved tablets,* undefiled, Oh! little dreamed the brooding child Of what within me wrought, While his young heart first burned and stirred, And quivered to the eternal word. And reverently my spirit caught The reverence of his gaze; * "All this and more than this is now eugraved upon the red leaved tablets of my heart."-HAYWOOD. AN INFANT'S LAST SLEEP. ANONYMOUS. Go to thy sleep, my child, With blessings on thy head, Fresh roses in thy hand, Buds on thy pillow laid, Haste from this fearful land, Where flowers so quickly fade. Before thy heart hath learned In waywardness to stray, Before thy feet have turned The dark and downward way; Ere sin hath seared thy breast In yon celestial sphere. |