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The panther he felt the thrill of the air,
And he gave a leap up, like that at his lair;
He felt the sharp sweetness more strengthen his veins,
Ten times than ever the spicy rains,
And ere they're aware, he has burst his chains :
He has burst his chains, and ah, ha! he's gone,
And the links and the gazers are left alone,
And off to the mountains the panther's flown.

Now what made the panther a prisoner be? Lo! 'twas the spices and luxury. And what set that lordly panther free? 'Twas Love ! -'twas Love!- 'twas no one but he.

TO A CHILD, DURING SICKNESS.

Sleep breathes at last from out thee,

My little, patient boy;
And balmy rest about thee
Smooths off the day's annoy.

I sit me down, and think

Of all thy winning ways;
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink,

That I had less to praise.

Thy sidelong pillowed meekness,

Thy thanks to all that aid,
Thy heart, in pain and weakness,
Of fancied faults afraid ;

The little trembling hand

That wipes thy quiet tears,
These, these are things that may demand

Dread memories for years.

Sorrows I've had, severe ones,

I will not think of now;
And calmly, midst my dear ones,

Have wasted with dry brow;

But when thy fingers press
And pat my stooping head,
I cannot bear the gentleness, –

The tears are in their bed.

Ah, first-born of thy mother,

When life and hope were new,
Kind playmate of thy brother,
Thy sister, father too;

My light, where'er I go,

My bird, when prison-bound, · My hand in hand companion, — no,

My prayers shall hold thee round.

To say “He has departed” —

“His voice” — “his face" – is gone To feel impatient-hearted, Yet feel we must bear on;

Ah, I could not endure

To whisper of such woe,
Unless I felt this sleep ensure

That it will not be so.

Yes, still he's fixed, and sleeping !

This silence too the while
It's very hush and creeping
Seem whispering us a smile :

Something divine and dim

Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of cherubim,

· Who say, “We've finished here."

TO THE

GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET.

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
When ev’n the bees lag at the summoning brass ;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;

Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both seem giv'n to earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song -
In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.

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