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The deep blue noon of night, lit by an orb
CAIN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SLEEPING CHILD.
He smiles and sleeps !--Sleep on And smile, thou little, young inheritor Of a world scarce less young: sleep on, and smile! Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering And innocent ! thou hast not pluck'd the fruit Thou know'st not thou art naked ! Must the time Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown, Which were not thine nor mine? But now sleep on ! His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, And shining lids are trembling o'er his long Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er them; Half open, from beneath them the clear blue Laughs out, although in slumber. He must dream Of what? Of Paradise ? -Ay! dream of it, My disinherited boy ! 'tis but a dream; For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers, Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy!
CAIN ADDRESSED BY HIS WIFE.
Soft! he awakes. Sweet Enoch !
ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
OF WALES. Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound; [ground, Through storm and darkness yawns the rending The gulph is thick with phantoms, but the chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd,
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ?
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low
The present happiness and promised joy
Peasants bring forth in safety. Can it be, Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored ! Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for ONE; for she had pour'd Her orisons for thee and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris. Thou, too, lonely lord, And desolate consort_vainly wert thou wed ! The husband of a year! the father of the dead ! Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, The love of millions ! How we did entrust Futurity to her! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd Like stars to shepherds' eyes :~-'twas but a meteor
beam'd. Woe unto us, not her, for she sleeps well: The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy, hath rung Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung Nations have armed in madness, the strange fate Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Against their blind omnipotence a weight [late, Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or
These might have been her destiny ; but no,
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest Thy land which loved thee so that none could love
CHILDE HAROLD'S ADIEU TO ENGLAND. " Adieu, adieu ! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;
And shrieks the wild seamew.
We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land-Good night!
To give the Morrow birth;
But not my mother Earth.
Its hearth is desolate ;
My dog howls at the gate.
Why dost thou weep and wail ? Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,
Or tremble at the gale ?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ;
Our ship is swift and strong : Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along."
I fear not wave nor wind;
Am sorrowful in mind ;
A mother whom I love,
But thee and one above.
Yet did not much complain ; But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.'— “ Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom liad,
Mine own would not be dry. " Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale ?
Or shiver at the gale ?”-
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
Will blanch a faithful cheek. • My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
What answer shall she make ?'