DICTATED BEFORE THE RHONE GLACIER.

THE WATCHING ANGEL.

     ("Dans l'alcôve sombre.")
     {XX., November, 1831.}
     In the dusky nook,
       Near the altar laid,
     Sleeps the child in shadow
       Of his mother's bed:
     Softly he reposes,
     And his lid of roses,
     Closed to earth, uncloses
       On the heaven o'erhead.

     Many a dream is with him,
       Fresh from fairyland,
     Spangled o'er with diamonds
       Seems the ocean sand;
     Suns are flaming there,
     Troops of ladies fair
     Souls of infants bear
       In each charming hand.

     Oh, enchanting vision!
       Lo, a rill upsprings,
     And from out its bosom
       Comes a voice that sings
     Lovelier there appear
     Sire and sisters dear,
     While his mother near
       Plumes her new-born wings.

     But a brighter vision
       Yet his eyes behold;
     Roses pied and lilies
       Every path enfold;
     Lakes delicious sleeping,
     Silver fishes leaping,
     Through the wavelets creeping
       Up to reeds of gold.

     Slumber on, sweet infant,
       Slumber peacefully
     Thy young soul yet knows not
       What thy lot may be.
     Like dead weeds that sweep
     O'er the dol'rous deep,
     Thou art borne in sleep.
       What is all to thee?

     Thou canst slumber by the way;
       Thou hast learnt to borrow
     Naught from study, naught from care;
       The cold hand of sorrow
     On thy brow unwrinkled yet,
     Where young truth and candor sit,
     Ne'er with rugged nail hath writ
       That sad word, "To-morrow!"

     Innocent! thou sleepest—
       See the angelic band,
     Who foreknow the trials
       That for man are planned;
     Seeing him unarmed,
     Unfearing, unalarmed,
     With their tears have warmed
       This unconscious hand.

     Still they, hovering o'er him,
       Kiss him where he lies,
     Hark, he sees them weeping,
       "Gabriel!" he cries;
     "Hush!" the angel says,
     On his lip he lays
     One finger, one displays
       His native skies.

     Foreign Quarterly Review








SUNSET.

     ("Le soleil s'est couché")
     {XXXV. vi., April, 1829.}
     The sun set this evening in masses of cloud,
       The storm comes to-morrow, then calm be the night,
     Then the Dawn in her chariot refulgent and proud,
       Then more nights, and still days, steps of Time in his flight.
     The days shall pass rapid as swifts on the wing.
       O'er the face of the hills, o'er the face of the seas,
     O'er streamlets of silver, and forests that ring
       With a dirge for the dead, chanted low by the breeze;
     The face of the waters, the brow of the mounts
     Deep scarred but not shrivelled, and woods tufted green,
     Their youth shall renew; and the rocks to the founts
     Shall yield what these yielded to ocean their queen.
     But day by day bending still lower my head,
       Still chilled in the sunlight, soon I shall have cast,
     At height of the banquet, my lot with the dead,
       Unmissed by creation aye joyous and vast.

     TORU DUTT.








THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

     ("Ma fille, va prier!")
     {XXXVII., June, 1830.}
     I.

     Come, child, to prayer; the busy day is done,
       A golden star gleams through the dusk of night;
     The hills are trembling in the rising mist,
       The rumbling wain looms dim upon the sight;
     All things wend home to rest; the roadside trees
       Shake off their dust, stirred by the evening breeze.

     The sparkling stars gush forth in sudden blaze,
       As twilight open flings the doors of night;
     The fringe of carmine narrows in the west,
       The rippling waves are tipped with silver light;
     The bush, the path—all blend in one dull gray;
     The doubtful traveller gropes his anxious way.

     Oh, day! with toil, with wrong, with hatred rife;
       Oh, blessed night! with sober calmness sweet,
     The sad winds moaning through the ruined tower,
       The age-worn hind, the sheep's sad broken bleat—
     All nature groans opprest with toil and care,
     And wearied craves for rest, and love, and prayer.

     At eve the babes with angels converse hold,
       While we to our strange pleasures wend our way,
     Each with its little face upraised to heaven,
       With folded hands, barefoot kneels down to pray,
     At selfsame hour with selfsame words they call
     On God, the common Father of them all.

     And then they sleep, and golden dreams anon,
       Born as the busy day's last murmurs die,
     In swarms tumultuous flitting through the gloom
       Their breathing lips and golden locks descry.
     And as the bees o'er bright flowers joyous roam,
     Around their curtained cradles clustering come.

     Oh, prayer of childhood! simple, innocent;
       Oh, infant slumbers! peaceful, pure, and light;
     Oh, happy worship! ever gay with smiles,
       Meet prelude to the harmonies of night;
     As birds beneath the wing enfold their head,
     Nestled in prayer the infant seeks its bed.

     HENRY HIGHTON, M.A.








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