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THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP.
SUGGESTED BY A MONUMENT OF CHANTREY's.
Thou sleepest--but when wilt thou wake, fair child ?-
When the fawn awakes in the forest wild ?
When the lark's wing mounts with the breeze of morn?
Lovely thou sleepest, yet something lies
Not when the fawn wakes, not when the lark
On the crimson cloud of the morn floats dark
Grief with vain passionate tears hath wet
from us, bright one !--that thou shouldst die, And life be left to the butterfly !* Thou’rt gone, as
a dew-drop is swept from the boughOh! for the world where thy home is now! How may we love but in doubt and fear, How
may we anchor our fond hearts here, How should e'en joy but a trembler be, Beautiful dust! when we look on thee?
* A butterfly, as if resting on a flower, is sculptured on the monument.
Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles-Thou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles ; Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home.
To the solemn depths of the forest shades,
I look'd on the mountains—a vapour lay
I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot--
To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
A tender smile on the ruin's head.
Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisle thy way,
And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold.
And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.
Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea !-