Fair, gentle, as when first I sued Ye seem, but of sedater mood; Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee, We stay'd and woo'd, and thought the moon Or linger'd 'mid the falling dew, When looks were fond, and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet; Have dimm'd thine eye, and touch'd thy rose; To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong When words come down like dews unsought, O, when more thought we gave of old What things should deck our humble bower; A garland for these locks of thine,——- At times there come, as come there ought, And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower, A mother's heart shine in thine eye, Speak of thee more than words can speak; I think the wedded wife of mine The best of all that's not divine! JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT. TO T. L. H., SIX YEARS OLD, DURING SICKNESS. SLEEP breathes at last from out thee, My little patient boy; I sit me down and think Of all thy winning ways; Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness, Thy thanks to all that aid, That wipes thy quiet tears; These, these are things that may demand Sorrows I've had, severe ones, Ah! first-born of thy mother, When life and hope were new; My light, where'er I go, My bird, when prison-bound, My hand-in-hand companion,-no, To say, "He has departed; His voice-his face is gone;" To feel impatient-hearted, Yet feel we must bear on ; Ah, I could not endure To whisper of such woe, Unless I felt this sleep ensure Yes, still he's fix'd and sleeping! Its very hush and creeping Seem whispering as a smile : Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of Cherubim, Who say, "We've finish'd here." HENRY KIRKE WHITE. Born, 1785; Died, 1806. WHAT art Thou, MIGHTY ONE? and where Thy seat! noon, Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon Dost Thou repose? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? Vain thought! the confines of His throne to trace, Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. JOHN WILSON. Born, 1785; Died, 1854. THE HOUR OF DEATH. WHEN nature feels the solemn hour is come May none I deeply love be then away; For through my heart the hush'd though sobbing breath Of natural grief a holy calm will send ; With sighs from earth will heavenly voices blend, Till, as on seraph fair, I smile on death, Who comes in peace, like an expected friend. Will o'er my soul a gracious shade extend; GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON. Born, 1788; Died, 1824. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB'S ARMY. THE' Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. * Wilson died on Sunday, the 2d of April, 1854. |