"OH is it a phantom? a dream of the night? But it is not the wind That is lifting it now: and it is not the mind A pale woman enters, She pauses. She stands She lays her white hands A light finger is pressing Slips from them. A comforting quietude steals Thro' the rack'd weary frame: and, throughout it, he feels The slow sense of a merciful, mild neighbourhood. Something smoothes the toss'd pillow. Beneath a grey hood Of rough serge, two intense tender eyes are bent o'er him, And thrill thro' and thro' him. The sweet form before him, It is surely Death's angel Life's last vigil keeping! And he sleeps: he is sleeping. "He waked before dawn. Still the vision is there : Still that pale woman moves not. A minist'ring care Meanwhile has been silently changing and cheering The aspect of all things around him. Revering Some power unknown and benignant, he bless'd In silence the sense of salvation. And rest Having loosen'd the mind's tangled meshes, he faintly Sigh'd-'Say what thou art, blessed dream of a saintly And minist'ring spirit!' A whisper serene Slid softer than silence-'The Sour Seraphine, A poor Sister of Charity. Shun to inquire Aught further, young soldier. The son of thy sire, 'For the sake of that sire, I reclaim from the grave. 'Thou didst not shun death: shun not life. brave 'To live than to die. Sleep!' 'Tis more He sleeps: he is sleeping. "He waken'd again, when the dawn was just steeping The skies with chill splendour. And there, never flitting, Never flitting, that vision of mercy was sitting. As the dawn to the darkness, so life seem'd returning Slowly, feebly within him. The night-lamp, yet burning, Made ghastly the glimmering daybreak. He said, 'If thou be of the living, and not of the dead, 'Sweet minister, pour out yet further the healing Of that balmy voice; if it may be, revealing 'O son One 'Of Matilda and Alfred, it matters not! 'Is now by this bedside. A nun hath no nation. She bent down to smoothe The hot pillow, and added—' Yet more than another 'Is thy life dear to me. For thy father, thy mother, 'I knew them-I know them.' From her bosom two letters: and-can it be true? He burst Into tears- My poor mother,—my father! the worst 'Will have reached them!' 'No, no!' she exclaim'd with a smile, "They know you are living; they know that meanwhile 'I am watching beside you. Young soldier, weep not!' But still on the nun's nursing bosom, the hot Fever'd brow of the boy weeping wildly is press'd. There, at last, the young heart sobs itself into rest : And he hears, as it were between smiling and weeping, The calm voice say Sleep!' And he sleeps, he is sleeping. (By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.) WAKE NOT THE DEAD. (FROM THE GERMAN OF J. M. FERMENICH.) Two youngsters were roaming the valley along, That sparkled wide with the Rhine wine's light; And cried, "Ye dead, you're a sluggardly crew, If ever in life you a goblet would drain, The churchyard groans, with a ponderous sound, There's creaking and cracking, and rumbling and rustling, There's breaking and scraping, and clattering and bustling; The skeletons tall from their prison rise, And strange is the sound of the night-wind's sighs: They clatter behind-they grip-they snatch, While sounds from the distance the owlet's cry, Until the cock has begun to crow, Then off to their graves the dead folks go. But when they find that the churchyard is near, CHARACTERS: Captain Bobadil: A Braggadocio. SCENE-The mean and obscure lodging of BOBADIL. Mat. Save you, sir; save you, captain. Bob. Gentle master Matthew! Is it you, sir? Please you to sit down. Mat. Thank you, good captain, you may see I am somewhat audacious. Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last night by a sort of gallants, where you were wish'd for, and drunk to, I assure you. Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain? Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred and others. Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir; 'tis very well. Bob. Body o' me !—it was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day abroad, sir ?— you can tell. |