THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH OF CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE. XV. CENTURY. SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend; "T is sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee. His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? Awake, my boy!—I tremble with affright! Sweet error!he but slept, I breathe again; - Come gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! O! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, Beside me watch to see thy waking smile? THE GRAVE FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. FOR thee was a house built Ere thou wert born, For thee was a mould meant Ere thou of mother camest. But it is not made ready, Nor its depth measured, Nor is it seen How long it shall be. Now I bring thee Where thou shalt be. Now I shall measure thee, And the mould afterwards. Thy house is not It is unhigh and low; When thou art therein, The heel-ways are low, The side-ways unhigh. The roof is built Thy breast full nigh, So thou shalt in mould Dwell full cold, Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house, And dark it is within; There thou art fast detained, And Death hath the key. And grim within to dwell. And worms shall divide thee. Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends; Thou hast no friend, Who will come to thee, Who will ever see How that house pleaseth thee; Who will ever open The door for thee And descend after thee, For soon thou art loathsome And hateful to see. |