TO A SLEEPING CHILD.

Art thou a thing of mortal birth,

Whose happy home is on our earth?

Does human blood with life embue

Those wandering veins of heavenly blue,

That stray along thy forehead fair,

Lost‘ mid a gleam of golden hair?

Oh! can that light and airy breath

Steal from a being doom'd to death;

Those features to the grave be sent

In sleep thus mutely eloquent;

Or, art thou, what thy form would seem,

The phantom of a blessed dream?

A human shape I feel thou art,

I feel it, at my beating heart,

Those tremors both of soul and sense

Awoke by infant innocence!

Though dear the forms by fancy wove,

We love them with a transient love;

Thoughts from the living world intrude

Even on her deepest solitude:

But, lovely child! thy magic stole

At once into my inmost soul,

With feelings as thy beauty fair,

And left no other vision there.

To me thy parents are unknown;

Glad would they be their child to own!

And well they must have loved before,

If since thy birth they loved not more.

Thou art a branch of noble stem,

And, seeing thee, I figure them.

What many a childless one would give,

If thou in their still home wouldst live!

Though in thy face no family-line

Might sweetly say, “This babe is mine!”

In time thou would'st become the same

As their own child,— all but the name!

How happy must thy parents be

Who daily live in sight of thee!

Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek

Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak,

And feel all natural griefs beguiled

By thee, their fond, their duteous child.

What joy must in their souls have stirr'd

When thy first broken words were heard,

Words, that, inspired by Heaven, express'd

The transports dancing in thy breast!

As for thy smile!— thy lip, cheek, brow,

Even while I gaze, are kindling now.

I called thee duteous: am I wrong?

No! truth, I feel, is in my song:

Duteous thy heart's still beatings move

To God, to Nature, and to Love!

To God!— for thou a harmless child

Hast kept his temple undefiled:

To Nature!— for thy tears and sighs

Obey alone her mysteries:

To Love!— for fiends of hate might see

Thou dwell'st in love, and love in thee!

What wonder then, though in thy dreams

Thy face with mystic meaning beams!

Oh! that my spirit's eye could see

Whence burst those gleams of extacy!

That light of dreaming soul appears

To play from thoughts above thy years.

Thou smil'st as if thy soul were soaring

To Heaven, and Heaven's God adoring!

And who can tell what visions high

May bless an infant's sleeping eye?

What brighter throne can brightness find

To reign on than an infant's mind,

Ere sin destroy, or error dim,

The glory of the Seraphim?

But now thy changing smiles express

Intelligible happiness.

I feel my soul thy soul partake.

What grief! if thou should'st now awake!

With infants happy as thyself

I see thee bound, a playful elf:

I see thou art a darling child

Among thy playmates, bold and wild.

They love thee well; thou art the queen

Of all their sports, in bower or green;

And if thou livest to woman's height,

In thee will friendship, love delight.

And live thou surely must; thy life

Is far too spiritual for the strife

Of mortal pain, nor could disease

Find heart to prey on smiles like these.

Oh! thou wilt be an angel bright!

To those thou lovest, a saving light!

The staff of age, the help sublime

Of erring youth, and stubborn prime;

And when thou goest to Heaven again,

Thy vanishing be like the strain

Of airy harp, so soft the tone

The ear scarce knows when it is gone!

Thrice blessed he! whose stars design

His spirit pure to lean on thine;

And watchful share, for days and years,

Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears!

For good and guiltless as thou art,

Some transient griefs will touch thy heart,

Griefs that along thy alter'd face

Will breathe a more subduing grace,

Than ev'n those looks of joy that lie

On the soft cheek of infancy.

Though looks, God knows, are cradled there

That guilt might cleanse, or sooth despair.

Oh! vision fair! that I could be

Again, as young, as pure as thee!

Vain wish! the rainbow's radiant form

May view, but cannot brave the storm;

Years can bedim the gorgeous dies

That paint the bird of paradise,

And years, so fate hath order'd, roll

Clouds o'er the summer of the soul.

Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace,

Such as the gladness of thy face,

O sinless babe! by God are given

To charm the wanderer back to Heaven.

No common impulse hath me led

To this green spot, thy quiet bed,

Where, by mere gladness overcome,

In sleep thou dreamest of thy home.

When to the lake I would have gone,

A wondrous beauty drew me on,

Such beauty as the spirit sees

In glittering fields, and moveless trees,

After a warm and silent shower,

Ere falls on earth the twilight hour.

What led me hither, all can say,

Who, knowing God, his will obey.

Thy slumbers now cannot be long:

Thy little dreams become too strong

For sleep,— too like realities:

Soon shall I see those hidden eyes!

Thou wakest, and, starting from the ground,

In dear amazement look'st around;

Like one who, little given to roam,

Wonders to find herself from home!

But, when a stranger meets thy view,

Glistens thine eye with wilder hue.

A moment's thought who I may be,

Blends with thy smiles of courtesy.

Fair was that face as break of dawn,

When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn

Like a thin veil that half-conceal'd

The light of soul, and half-reveal'd.

While thy hush'd heart with visions wrought,

Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought,

And things we dream, but ne'er can speak,

Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek,

Such summer-clouds as travel light,

When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright;

Till thou awok'st,— then to thine eye

Thy whole heart leapt in extacy!

And lovely is that heart of thine,

Or sure these eyes could never shine

With such a wild, yet bashful glee,

Gay, half-o'ercome timidity!

Nature has breath'd into thy face

A spirit of unconscious grace;

A spirit that lies never still,

And makes thee joyous‘ gainst thy will.

As, sometimes o'er a sleeping lake

Soft airs a gentle ripling make,

Till, ere we know, the strangers fly,

And water blends again with sky.

Oh! happy sprite! didst thou but know

What pleasures through my being flow

From thy soft eyes, a holier feeling

From their blue light could ne'er be stealing,

But thou would'st be more loth to part,

And give me more of that glad heart!

Oh! gone thou art! and bearest hence

The glory of thy innocence.

But with deep joy I breathe the air

That kiss'd thy cheek, and fann'd thy hair,

And feel though fate our lives must sever,

Yet shall thy image live for ever!