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How like a tender mother,

With loving thoughts beguiled,
Fond Nature seems to lull to rest

Each faint and weary child !
Drawing the curtain tenderly,

Affectionate and mild.

Hark to the gentle lullaby

That through the trees is creeping!
Those sleepy trees that nod their heads

Ere the moon as yet comes peeping,
Like a tender nurse, to see if all

Her little ones are sleeping.

One little fluttering bird,

Like a child in a dream of pain,
Has chirped and started up,

Then nestled down again.
Oh! a child and a bird, as they sink to rest,
Are as like as any twain.

C. Young


TORCHES were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Frontevraud.
Banners of battle o'er him hung,

And warriors slept beneath ;
And light, as noon's broad light, was flung

On the settled face of death.

On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare,
Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath,

Yet it fell still brightest there ;

As if each deeply furrowed trace

Of earthly years to show ;-
Alas! that sceptred monarch's race

Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept

By many a long dark stole,
As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,

Sang mass for the parted soul;
And solemn were the strains they poured

Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,

And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,

As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavements rang

With a sounding thrill of dread ;
And the holy chant was hushed a while,

As by the torch's flame
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle

With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,

An eagle-glance and clear !
But his proud heart through his breastplate shook

When he stood beside the bier.
He stood there still, with a drooping brow

And clasped hands o'er it raised,
For his father laid before him low-

It was Cour-de-Lion gazed !

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast;
But there's more in the late repentant love

Than steel may keep suppressed !
And his tears broke forth at last like rain ;-

Men held their breath in awe;
For his face was seen by his warrior train,

And he recked not that they saw.

He looked upon the dead

And sorrow seemed to lie,
A weight of sorrow, e'en like lead,

Pale on the fast-shut eye.
He stooped, and pressed the frozen cheek,

And the heavy hand of clay ;
Till bursting words—yet all too weak-

Gave his soul's passion way.

“O father! is it vain,

This late remorse and deep?
Speak to me, father, once again !

I weep-behold, I weep !
Alas ! my guilty pride and ire! -

Were but this work undone,
I would give England's crown, my sire,

To hear thee bless thy son,

Speak to me! mighty grief

Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me, but hear me !—father, chief,

My king! I must be heard ! Hushed, hushed !-how is it that I call, · And that thou answerest not? When was it thus ? Woe, woe for all

The love my soul forgot!

Thy silver hairs I see,

So still, so sadly bright!
And father, father! but for me,

They had not been so white !
I bore thee down, high heart! at last,

No longer couldst thou strive,-
Oh! for one moment of the past,

To kneel and say—'Forgive !

Thou wert the noblest king

On royal throne e'er seen ;
And thou didst wear in knightly ring

Of all the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are

proved, In war the bravest heart : Oh! ever the renowned and loved

Thou wert-and there thou art !

Thou that my boyhood's guide

Didst take fond joy to be !
The times I've sported by thy side,

And climbed thy parent knee !
And then before the blessed shrine,

My sire ! I see thee lieHow will that sad, still face of thine Look on me till I die!"



On Carmel's brow the wreathy vine

Had all its honours shed, And o'er the vales of Palestine

A sickly paleness spread ;
When the old seer, by vision led,

And energy sublime,
Into that shadowy region sped,

To muse on distant time.

He saw the valleys far and wide, •

But sight of joy was none ;
He looked o'er many a mountain-side,

But silence reigned alone ;
Save that a boding voice sung on,

By wave and waterfall,
As still in harsh and heavy tone

Deep unto deep did call.

On Kison's strand and Ephratah

The hamlets thick did lie : No wayfarer between he saw,

No Asherite passed by!

No maiden at her task did ply,

Nor sportive child was seen : The lonely dog barked wearily,

Where dwellers once had been !

Oh! beauteous were the palaces

Of Jordan wont to be;
And still they glimmered to the breeze,

Like stars beneath the sea;
But vultures held their jubilee
· Where harp and cymbal rung ;
And there, as if in mockery,

The baleful satyr sung.

But, oh! that prophet's visioned eye,

On Carmel that reclined !
It looked not on the times gone by,

But those that were behind :
His gray hair streamed upon the wind,

His hands were raised on high,
As mirrored on his mystic mind

Arose futurity.

He saw the feast at Bozrah spread,

Prepared in ancient day, Eastward away the eagle sped,

And all the birds of prey : “ Who's this,” he cried, “ comes by the way

of Edom, all divineTravelling in splendour, whose array

Is red, but not with wine ?"

Bless'd be the herald of our King,

That comes to set us free!
The dwellers of the rock shall sing,

And utter praise to thee !
Tabor and Hermon yet shall see

Their glories glow again,
And blossoms spring on field and tree,

That ever shall remain.

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