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SLEEP, CHILD OF MY LOVE.
BY J. W. EASTBURNE.
Sleep, child of my love! be thy slumber as light
Be the visions that visit thee fairy and bright
O, soft flows the breath from thine innocent breast;
In the wild wood, Sleep cradles in roses thy head; Out her who protects thee, a wanderer unblessed,
He forsakes, or surrounds with his phantoms of dread.
I fear for thy father! why stays he so long
And the sailor oft lingered to hearken her song,
He skims the blue tide in his birchen canoe,
The ball to its scope may speed rapid and true,
The Power that is round us—whose presence is near,
Protect that lone bark in its lonely career,
THE LIGHT OF HOME.
BY MRS. HALE.
My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam;
Forget the light of home.
Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead astray;
When thou treadest the lonely way.
But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
'Twill burn, 'twill burn, for ever the same,
The sea of ambition is tempest tost,
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,
And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright; For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quenched its holy light.
The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name;
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And how cold and dim those beams must be, Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee, Then turn to the light of home.
BY EDWARD EVERETT.
Yes, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay; But wilt thou never kindly deign
To think of him that's far away?
For many years I may not see;
My sister dear, remember me?
But not in Fashion's brilliant hall,
And thou the fairest of them all,—
But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And all is silent, still, and lone,
Remember me—but, loveliest, ne'er,
When, in his orbit fair and high, The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky; But when the waning moonbeam sleeps
At moonlight on that lonely lea, And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, remember me.
Remember me, I pray—but not
In Flora's gay and blooming hour, When every brake hath found its note,
And sunshine smiles in every flower; But when the falling leaf is sere,
And withers sadly from the tree, And o'er the ruins of the year
Cold autumn weeps, remember me.
Remember me—but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake, The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling, to the margin break; But when the deafening billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea, Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me.
Remember me—but not to join
If haply some thy friends should praise;
To echo what the stranger says.
Some faithful friend of me and thee,
My name, and then remember me.
Remember me—not, I entreat,
In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,
Thy thought thy pleasure should alloy;
And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
Sweet spirit, then remember me.
Remember me—but not as I
On thee forever, ever dwell, , With anxious heart and drooping eye,
And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell;
Where dark and gloomy visions flee,
And kindly there remember me.