But not so beautiful they rear their airy cups of

blue,

As turned her sweet eyes to the light, brimmed with sleep's tender dew ;

And not so close their tendrils fine round their

supports are thrown,

As those dear arms, whose outstretched plea clasped all hearts to her own.

We used to think how she had come, even as comes the flower,

The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning hour,

And how in her was imaged forth the love we

could not say,

As on the little dew-drops round shines back the heart of day.

We never could have thought, O God, that she must wither up,

Almost before a day was flown, like the morningglory's cup;

We never thought to see her droop her fair and noble head,

Till she lay stretched before our eyes, wilted, and cold, and dead.

The morning-glory's blossoming will soon be coming round,

We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves upspringing from the ground;

The tender things the winter killed renew again their birth,

But the glory of our morning has passed away from earth.

O Earth, in vain our aching eyes stretch over thy green plain !

Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, her spirit to sustain ;

But up in groves of Paradise full surely we shall

see

Our morning-glory beautiful twine round our dear Lord's knee.

TO WILLIAM.

It seems but yesterday, my love, thy little heart

beat high;

And I had almost scorned the voice that told me

thou must die.

I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits wild and free,

And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to thee.

Far on the sunny plains I saw thy sparkling footsteps fly,

Firm, light, and graceful as the bird that cleaves the morning sky;

And often as the playful breeze waved back thy

shining hair,

Thy cheek displayed the red-rose tint that health had painted there.

And then, in all my thoughtfulness, I could not but rejoice

To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy

voice,

Now echoing in the rapturous laugh, now sad almost to tears;

'T was like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier years!

Thanks for that memory to thee, my little, lovely

boy,

That memory of my youthful bliss, which time would fain destroy.

I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound

oar,

To taste the farewell gale that breathes from off his native shore.

So gentle in thy loveliness, alas! how could it be

That Death would not forbear to lay his icy hand on thee,

Nor spare thee yet a little while, in childhood's opening bloom,

While many a sad and weary soul was longing for the tomb?

Was mine a happiness too pure for erring man to know?

Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my paradise below?

Enchanting as the vision was, it sank away as

soon

As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at noon.

loved thee, and my heart was blest; but ere that day was spent,

I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent,