Yet, thou art welcome! for there grow

Such blooming memories round thine hours, That dark must be the wave of woe

Thy coming cannot crest with flowers.

And so, I bless thee, for the Past,

Whose brightest moments have been thine, From childhood's playthings, to the last Warm pledges in the Christmas wine!

And still more fondly will I greet

Thy next glad coming, if that then The pilgrim's sandals shall be off my feet The staff laid down, and I at home again!

TO AN INFANT.

"THE LORD GAVE."

Thou hast been born to breathe a softer air

Than Fate e'er won, from kindest skies, for me, And, were there blessings waiting on my prayer, God hath no angel but should bend o'er thee!

But there's a heart, quick beating, by thy side, Whose very pulse is worship. Night and day, Unconscious, from its throbbing, upward glide

Wishes too pure for Heaven to turn away.

No vows on high then need'st thou for thy weal,
Nor in this lower world a shield. Thy life
Hath only love to wait on it. The wheel

That, for the most of us, o'er toil and strife

Rolls its sad round, for thee can scarcely turn

From good, except to better. For the sake Of her who bore thee, many a heart will yearn, Though thou shalt know it not, from thee to take

Thy burden and to bear it. For the love
Of him thou shalt call father, many a hand
The stones and thorns from out thy path shall move,
And hopes, like sentinels, shall round it stand.

Joy be thy welcome then! and-for the woes
That, on the best beloved and the best,
Fall-when and wherefore not the wisest knows,
Nor, knowing, could o'ermaster-let them rest

Until their hour shall come.

The cup of earth Hath not pearls melted, alway, in its wine; And happier, thou, than child of mortal birth, If bitterness be not the most of thine.

But that thou can'st not rule. It is for Fate

To mix the draught—we quaff it, as we can. Drink of it, humbly, if she pledge thee great;

But, great or humble-drain it like a man!

"AND THE LORD HATH TAKEN AWAY."

I turn the vacant pages o'er and o'er,

And fain would read them, but my eyes grow dim,

And thought and heavy heart go back to him

So wearily, that I can strive no more.

I see him now, as when he climbed my knee,

But yesternight, and round me played and clung
I hear the little busy merry tongue

Lisping the winsome music of his glee;

And, as a garden sunbeam, dewy-bright,

I feel the glow upon me, of the smile
That kissed his innocent sweet lips, the while
He bade me, as he went, his glad Good Night!

Was it forever? When the shadows fall

To-morrow and to-morrow-desolate
Around the silent hearth-stone shall we wait,

Vain listening his light footstep in the hall?

From out the midnight voices seem to say

Life's star was setting when it seemed to rise,

And what we thought its brightness in the skies

Was but its blending with the perfect day!

When thou didst come among us, all unknown,

I gave thee welcome for thy parents' sake,

Nor dreamed, fair child! how soon there should awake Longings and griefs within me for thine own.

Yet, as, from day to day, their opening flowers

Beauty and hope about thy brow entwined,

And, from the roseate dawning of thy mind,

Love walked with thought adown the kindling hours,

Till every grace I saw upon thee grow

Was so made up with tenderness and mirth,

So full of joy and gentleness, that earth

Knew not its part in thee, 'twas brightened so

I could but bless thee. Hearts unfilled will crave
The bliss they may not covet, and the grief

Is mine, not borrowed, now, that span so brief

Was all betwixt thy cradle and thy grave.

Good Night, my gentle boy! No dream of pain
Or sin or haunting sorrow waits on thee-
Thou art set free from thy captivity,

Without one memory of its broken chain.

Good Night, and to thy rest! There will be tears
Shed over the first-born, and there will cleave
Unto the bruised hearts thou seem'st to leave,

The anguish of the love that bleeds and bears.

But yet not always. In their lonely home

Tidings shall be, as from the dead that sleep; And a child's whisper, when they else would weep, Shall breathe the message "Suffer him to come!"

MEMNON.

When soft, on Memnon's lips, of old,
The sunset's fading glory fell,

Though answering music from them rolled,
'Twas but the sighing of farewell :
If ever from the radiant stone

The notes of love and rapture broke,
'Twas morning's blessed beam alone,
The wild, impassioned song that woke.

Though 'tis not mine, as yet, to know
The dimness of the waning day,
Nor quite forgotten is the glow

That purpled o'er my morning way,
Yet, even when my soul is stirred
By what were ecstasy before,

The calmer hope and colder word

Now catch the olden flush no more.

'Tis strange-it may be sad to see,

And 'tis, to feel-I know not why

There were no beauty on the lea,

Were there no changes in the sky;

And though my heart, like Memnon's tongue, Wakes not at noon its morning strain,

There's music in it, yet unsung,

Will greet the light it loves again!