She did but ope an eye, and put

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut

For the long dark; ne'er more to see
Through glasses of mortality.

Riddle of destiny, who can show

What thy short visit meant, or know

What thy errand here below?

Shall we say, that Nature blind

Checked her hand, and changed her mind,
Just when she had exactly wrought

A finished pattern without fault?

Could she flag, or could she tire,

Or lacked she the Promethean fire

(With her nine moons' long workings sickened) That should thy little limbs have quickened? Limbs so firm, they seemed to assure

Life of health, and days mature :

Woman's self in miniature !

Limbs so fair, they might supply
(Themselves now but cold imagery)
The sculptor to lay beauty by,
Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry,
That babe or mother, one must die;

So in mercy left the stock,

And cut the branch; to save the shock

Of

young years widowed; and the pain, When single state comes back again

To the lone man, who, reft of wife,
Thenceforward drags a maimed life?
The economy of Heaven is dark;

And wisest clerks have missed the mark,
Why human buds, like this, should fall,
More brief than fly ephemeral,

That has his day; while shrivelled crones
Stiffen with age to stocks and stones;
And crabbed use the conscience sears
In sinners of an hundred years.
Mother's prattle, mother's kiss,
Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss,
Rites, which custom does impose,
Silver bells and baby clothes;
Coral redder than those lips,
Which pale death did late eclipse;
Music framed for infant's glee,

Whistle never tuned for thee;

Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them,

Loving hearts were they which gave them.

Let not one be missing; nurse,

See them laid upon the hearse
Of infant slain by doom perverse.
Why should kings and nobles have
Pictured trophies to their grave;
And we, churls, to thee deny
Thy pretty toys with thee to lie,
A more harmless vanity?

"THE CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN."

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky;

So was it when my life began ;

So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The child is Father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

DEATH OF AN INFANT.

A HOST of angels flying,

Through cloudless skies impelled,
Upon the earth beheld

A pearl of beauty lying,
Worthy to glitter bright

In Heaven's vast halls of light.

They saw, with glances tender,
An infant newly born,

O'er whom life's earliest morn

Just cast its opening splendor:
Virtue it could not know,
Nor vice, nor joy, nor woe.

The blest angelic legion

Greeted its birth above,

And came, with looks of love, From Heaven's enchanting region; Bending their winged way

To where the infant lay!

They spread their pinions o'er it,—

That little pearl which shone

With lustre all its own,

And then on high they bore it,
Where glory has its birth ;-
But left the shell on earth.

EXTRACT FROM MACBETH. ACT IV.

MALCOLM. MACDUFF. Enter Rosse.

Rosse. Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes Savagely slaughtered: to relate the manner

Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer,

To add the death of you.

Malcolm.

Merciful Heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. Macduff. My children too? All my pretty ones? Did you say, all? O, hell-kite! - All!