THE CHILD READING THE BIBLE. "A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, to waylay. A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death." WORDSWORTH. I SAW him at his sport erewhile, The bright, exulting boy! Like summer's lightning came the smile A flash that, wheresoe'er it broke, His fair locks waved in sunny play, And pearly spray at times would meet He twined him wreaths of all spring-flowers, He flung them o'er the wave in showers, Which seem'd more pure, or bright, or wild, To look on all that joy and bloom Made earth one festal scene, Where the dull shadow of the tomb Seem'd as it ne'er had been. How could one image of decay Steal o'er the dawn of such clear day? I saw once more that aspect bright- And, like a golden cloud— And if my heart had deem'd him fair, When, in the fountain-glade, A creature of the sky and air, Almost on wings he play'd; Oh! how much holier beauty now Lit the young human being's brow! The being born to toil, to die, To break forth from the tomb Unto far nobler destiny Than waits the skylark's plume! I saw him, in that thoughtful hour, Win the first knowledge of his dower. The soul, the awakening soul I saw- As o'er a flower might pass the shade The soul, the mother of deep fears, Of glorious dreams, mysterious tears, The red-leaved tablets,1 undefiled, Oh! little dream'd the brooding child While his young heart first burn'd and stirr'd, And quiver'd to the eternal word. And reverently my spirit caught A sight with dew of blessing fraught To make the proud heart meekly wise, It seem'd as if a temple rose Before me brightly there; And in the depths of its repose My soul o'erflow'd with prayer, Feeling a solemn presence nigh—. The power of infant sanctity! O Father! mould my heart once more E'en with that pure one's faith- A POET'S DYING HYMN. "Be mute who will, who can, Yet I will praise thee with impassion'd voice! Rear'd for thy presence; therefore am I bound To worship, here and every where."-WORDSWORTH, THE blue, deep, glorious heavens!-I lift mine cye, And bless thee, O my God! that I have met 1 "All this, and more than this, is now engraved upon the red-leaved tablets of my heart."-HAYWOOD. The sufferer and the victor-king of death, ["I have lately written what I consider one of my best pieces -A Poet's Dying Hymn.' It appeared in the last number of Blackwood," (April 1832.)-Letter from Mrs Hemans. "It is impossible to read this affecting poem without feeling how distinctly it breathes the inward echoes of the soul to the frequent warnings of the Summoner; those presentiments which must have long silently possessed her, here for the first time finding utterance. Still more strongly does it evidence that subdued and serene frame of mind, into which her once vivacious temperament and painfully vibrating sensibilities were now so gently and happily subsiding."-Memoir, p. 254.] THE FUNERAL DAY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. "Many an eye May wail the dimming of our shining star."-- SHAKSPEARE. A GLORIOUS Voice hath ceased! Mournfully, reverently-the funeral chant Breathe reverently! There is a dreamy sound, A hollow murmur of the dying year, [groves, In the deep woods. Let it be wild and sad! Who shall wake thee? lord of the buried past! From field or wave, May join the august procession, for to him High above sorrow's dirge, befits the tomb A lowly, lowly song. Lowly and solemn be Father divine ! A hymn of suppliant breath, Owning that life and death Alike are thine ! A spirit on its way, From thee was sent : Now call'st thou back thine ownHence is that radiance flown To earth but lent. Watching in breathless awe, The bright head bow'd we saw, |