Till every struggling doubt to check
And give to love its due,

It casts its arms about his neck,

And cries" With You, with You,For you have sung me many a song, Like mine own mother's, all night long, And you have play'd with me in dreams, Along the walks, beside the streams, Of Paradise, the blessèd bowers, Where what men call the stars are flowers, And what to them looks deep and blue Is but a veil which we saw through, Into the garden without end, Where you the angel-children tend : So that they asked me when I woke, Where I had been, to whom I spoke, What I was doing there, to seem So heavenly-happy in my dream?

Oh! take me, take me, there again,
Out of the cold and wind and rain,
Out of this dark and cruel town,
Whose houses on the orphan frown;
Bear me the thundering clouds above
To the safe kingdom of your love :
Or if you will not, I can go
With you barefooted through the snow ;-
I shall not feel the bitter blast,

If you will take me home at last."

Three kisses on its dead-cold cheeks,

Three on its bloodless brow,

And a clear answe'ring music speaks,

"Sweet brother! come there now:

It shall be so; there is no dread
Within the aureole of mine head;

This hand in yours, this living hand,
Can all the world of cold withstand,
And, though so small, is strong to lift
Your feet above the thickest drift;
The wind that round you raged and broke
Shall fold about us like a cloak,

And we shall reach that garden soon,
Without the guide of sun or moon."
So down the mansion's slippe'ry stair,
Into the midnight weather,

Pass, as if sorrows never were,

The weak and strong together.

-This was the night before the morn,
On which the Hope of Man was born,
And long ere dawn can claim the sky,
The tempest rolls subservient by ;
While bells on all sides sing and say,
How Christ the child was born to-day;
Free as the sun's in June, the rays
Mix merry with the Yuhl-log's blaze;
Some butterflies of snow may float
Down slowly, gliste'ning in the mote,
But crystal-leaved and fruited trees
Scarce lose a jewel in the breeze;
Frost-diamonds twinkle on the grass,
Transformed from pearly dew,
And silver flowers encrust the glass,
Which gardens never knew.

The inmates of the house, before
Whose iron-fended heedless door,

The children of our nightly tale
Were standing, rise refreshed and hale,
And run, as if a race to win,

To let the Christmas morning in.
They find, upon the threshold stone,
A little Child, just like their own;
Asleep it seems, but when the head
Is raised, it sleeps, as sleep the dead;
The fatal point had touched it, while
The lips had just begun a smile,
The forehead 'mid the matted tresses
A perfect-painless end expresses,
And, unconvulsed, the hands may wear
The posture more of thanks than prayer.

They tend it straight in wondering grief,—
And, when all skill brings no relief,
They bear it onward, in its smile,
Up the Cathedral's central aisle :

There, soon as Priests and People heard
How the thing was, they speak not word,
But take the usual Image, meant
The blessed babe to represent,
Forth from its cradle, and instead
Lay down that silent mortal head.
Now incense-cloud and anthem-sound
Arise the beauteous body round;
Softly the carol chant is sung,
Softly the mirthful peal is rung,
And, when the solemn duties end,
With tapers earnest troops attend

The gentle corpse, nor cease to sing
Till, by an almond tree,

They bury'it, that the flowers of spring
May o'er it soonest be.

PRINCE EMILIUS OF HESSEN-DARMSTADT.

FROM Hessen-Darmstadt every step to Moskwa's blazing banks
Was Prince Emilius found in fight before the foremost ranks;
And when upon the icy waste that host was backward cast,
On Beresina's bloody bridge his banner waved the last.

His valour shed victorious grace on all that dread retreat,
That path across the wilde'ring snow, athwart the blinding sleet;
And every follower of his sword could all endure and dare,
Becoming warriors strong in hope or stronger in despair.

Now, day and dark, along the storm the demon Cossacks

sweep,

The hungriest must not look for food, the weariest must not

sleep;

No rest, but death, for horse or man, whichever first shall

tire ;

They see the flames destroy but ne'er may feel the saving fire.

Thus never closed the bitter night nor rose the savage morn,
But from that gallant company some noble part was shorn,
And, sick at heart, the Prince resolved to keep his purposed way,
With stedfast forward looks, nor count the losses of the day.

At length beside a black-burnt hut, an island of the snow,-
Each head in frigid stupor bent toward the saddle-bow,—
They paused, and of that sturdy troop, that thousand banded

men,

At one unmeditated glance he numbered only ten !

Of all that high triumphant life that left his German home,

Of all those hearts that beat beloved or looked for love to come, This piteous remnant hardly saved his spirit overcame,

While memory raised each friendly face and called each ancient

name.

Then were his words serene and firm-"Dear brothers it is

best

That here, with perfect trust in Heaven, we give our bodies

rest;

If we have borne, like faithful men, our part of toil and pain, Where'er we wake, for Christ's good sake, we shall not sleep in

vain."

Some murmured, others looked, assent, they had no heart to

speak.;

Dumb hands were pressed, the pallid lips approached the callous

cheek;

They laid them side by side; and death to him at least did

seem

To come attired in mazy robe of variegated dream.

Once more he floated on the breast of old familiar Rhine,

His mother's and one other smile above him seemed to shine;

A blessed dew of healing fell on every aching limb,

Till the stream broadened and the air thickened and all was dim.

Nature had bent to other laws, if that tremendous night

Passed o'er his frame exposed and worn and left no deadly

blight;

Then wonder not that when refreshed and warm he woke at

last,

There lay a boundless gulf of thought between him and the past.