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What happy dreams, fair child, are given
To cast their sunshine o'er thee?
What cord unites that soul to Heaven:
What visions glide before thee? -
O'er thy glad features beaming,
Alloys thine hour of dreaming.
Mayhap, afar on viewless wings
Thy sinless spirit soaring,
Where angels are adoring;
Around their Maker praising,
Ten thousand tongues are raising !
Sleep, lovely babe! - for time's cold touch
Will make these visions wither; – Youth, and the dreams that charm so much,
Shall fade and fly together.
Then, sleep, - while sleep is pure and mild,
Ere earthly ties grow stronger, When thou shalt be no more a child,
And dream of Heaven no longer.
And nature still unfolds the tissue,
Of works unseen, by spirit wrought; And not a work but hath its issue
With blessings or with evil fraught.
Thou now may'st seem to leave behind thee
All memory of the sinful past;
And thou shalt know its fruits at last.
THE WEEPER DEMENTED.
Saw ye the mourner, reclining
Where the damp earth was her bed, Where the young ivy-vines twining,
Mantled the house of the dead ?
Heard ye the voice of the weeper
Rise with the herald of day, Calling aloud to the sleeper,
Bidding him hasten away?
Felt ye her wild notes of sorrow
Thrilling the bosom to pain?
Dark is the wanderer's morrow,
Soon she'll be sleeping again. Dim is her life's glimmering taper ;
Fast is she sinking to rest ! Soon will the chill evening vapor
Gather, unfelt, o'er her breast.