DEATH AND BURIAL OF A CHILD AT SEA. My boy refused his food, forgot to play, He prattled less in accents void of guile, And timid, trembling, came he to my side. And strives in vain to think it is not so? Nor half-blown daisy in his little hand :Wide was the field around, but 'twas not land. Enamoured death, with sweetly pensive grace, Was awful beauty to his silent face. And on his calm lips, which had lost their But which, though pale, seemed half unclosed to speak, Loitered a smile, like moonlight on the snow. I gazed upon him still-not wild with fears Gone were my fears, and present was despair! But, as I gazed, a little lock of hair, While on his brow, more sad from hour to Stirred by the breeze, played, trembling on hour, his cheek; Drooped wan Dejection, like a fading flower! O God! my heart!-I thought life still At length my boy seemed better, and I slept was there. But, to commit him to the watery grave, Oh, soundly!—but methought my mother O'er which the winds, unwearied mourners, Soon, broken heart, we soon shall meet Held me, and I was calm as dying saint; again!" While that stern weeper lowered into the Then o'er my face her freezing hand she crossed, And bending kissed me with her lip of frost. Oh! what a tale that dreadful chillness told! sea My ill-starred boy! Deep-buried deep, he And then I looked to heaven in agony, And then expired, I would have bless'd His limbs were stiff-he moved not-he But where my poor boy lies I may not lie; was dead! I cannot come, with broken heart, to sigh Oh! let me weep!-what mother would O'er his loved dust, and strew with flowers not weep, To see her child committed to the deep? No mournful flowers, by weeping fondness laid, his turf His pillow hath no cover but the surf; Nor pink, nor rose, drooped, on his breast Oh! I will love the sea, because it is his displayed, grave! ANON. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door AFTER BLENHEIM. Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild, Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was round. But what they killed each other for, My father lived at Blenheim then, They burned his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled; so large, and smooth, and With fire and sword the country round Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, Who fell in the great victory. I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughsbare turns them out: For many a thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory.". "Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin he cries; And what they fought each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, Who put the French to rout; Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died: But things like that, you know, must be, They say it was a shocking sight For many thousand bodies there But things like that, you know, must be, Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.""Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!' Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, It was a famous victory; And everybody praised the Duke, NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR. NAPOLEON'S banners at Boulogne They suffered him-I know not how- His eye, methinks, pursued the flight With envy they could reach the white A stormy midnight watch, he thought, At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning-dreaming-doatAn empty hogshead from the deep [ing, Come shoreward floating, I ASK not wealth;-the glittering toy I never may command; Let others own it is their joy, And wield the gilded wand. I ask not fame;-the laurelled wreath I ask not beauty;-'tis a gem Even one rough gale may bear it hence, And saddening is its flight. Such fading flowers of earthly ground The soul's calm sunshine I would know; Be mine Religion's trust; Be mine its precious truth to know;- And Hope and Faith, as angels bright, For Death, ere long, with subtle art, Then I can feel life's troubled road ANON. THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. ONE morning (raw it was and wet, Not old, though something past her prime; Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; And, thus continuing, she said, And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. The bird and cage they both were his: "Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages This singing-bird had gone with him : When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. From bodings, as might be, that hung upon When from these lofty thoughts I woke, "What is it," said I, "that you bear Beneath the covert of your cloak, Protected from this cold damp air?" She answered, soon as she the question heard, his mind. He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it to be watched and fed, "A simple burden, sir--a little singing- I bear it with me, sir; he took so much bird." delight in it." THE BLIND MOTHER. WORDSWORTH. GENTLY, dear mother; here The bridge is broken near thee, and below The waters with a rapid current flow— Gently, and do not fear; Lean on me, mother-plant thy staff before thee, And the kind looks of friends Peruse the sad expression in thy face; And the child stops amid his bounding race, And the tall stripling bends Low to thine ear with duty unforgot For she who loves thee most is watching Alas, dear mother, that thou seest them o'er thee. The green leaves as we pass Lay their light fingers on thee unaware; And by thy side the hazel clusters fair; And the low forest grass not! But thou canst hear, and love May richly on a human tongue be poured; And the slight cadence of a whispered word Grows green and lovely, where the wood A daughter's love may prove; And nature is all bright; Yes, thou canst hear; and He And the faint gray and crimson of the dawn, Who on thy sightless eye its darkness Like folded curtains from the day are drawn ; And evening's dewy light Quivers in tremulous softness on the sky Alas, dear mother, for thy clouded eye! hung, To the attentive ear like harps hath strung Heaven, and earth, and sea! And 'tis a lesson in our hearts to know, With but one sense the soul may overflow! N. P. WILLIS, |