Till thou awok'st-then to thine eye And lovely is that heart of thine, And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will. Oh, happy sprite! didst thou but know 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 kissed thy cheek and fanned thy hair, And feel though fate our lives must sever, Yet shall thy image live for ever! CARPE DIEM. BARRY CORNWALL. No care, no labour for the child! Err we not, when we constrain Then-gather the roses," happy child! And sing, and laugh, and dance-and tread And press the sweets from all the flowers, THE TWO DREAMERS. WISS WILLIAMS, EXTRACT.] I saw a little child; The smile of heaven was on him he was fraught Devotion at such shrine might well begin. But meek submission soon her power renewed, And patient smiles, by tears but made more bright, Confessed that God's decree was wise, and good, and right. It was a winter's evening,-clear, but still; Bright was the fire, and bright the silvery beam Of the fair moon shone on the window-sill, And turned at last upon the silent tomb, Earth's goal for hoary age, and beauty's smiling bloom. We talked of life's last hour,—the varied forms And features it assumes; how some men die As sets the sun when dark clouds threaten storins, And starless nights; others, whose evening sky Resembles those which to the outward eye Seem full of promise;-and with softened tone, At seasons checked by no ungrateful sigh, The death of one sweet grandchild of his own Was by that hoary man most tenderly made known. |