Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 133.djvu/456

SLEEP ON: A DIRGE.

BASED ON THE FRENCH.

I.

The daisies prank thy grassy grave;

Above, the dark pine-branches wave:
Sleep on.
Below, the merry runnel sings.
And swallows sweep with glancing wings:
Sleep on, Marie, sleep on.

II.

Some whisper-words of doubt and shame,

Or, lightly laughing, breathe thy name:
Sleep on.
Slander may never harm thee now,
God's gentle hand upon thy brow:
Sleep on, Marie, sleep on.

III.

Calm as a summer sea at rest,

Thy meek hands folded on thy breast,
Sleep on;
Hushed into stillness life's sharp pain,
Nought but the pattering of the rain:
Sleep on, Marie, sleep on.

Gentleman's Magazine.John H. Davies

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SPRING SHOWERS.

Sweet is the swart earth
After the April rain;
It will give the violets birth,
And quicken the grass in the plain.

The woodlands are dim — with dreams
Of the region they lately have left;
Like man and his thoughts of Eden —
Of something of which he's bereft.

The stars they have left their veils
On the everlasting hills;
And angels have trodden the dales,
And spirits have touched the rills.

And truths to be seen and heard,
Say love has made all things his own;
He reigns in the breast of the bird,
And has made the earth's bosom his throne.

The pansies peep by the brook,
And the primrose is pure in the sun;
The world wears a heavenly look,
Man's spirit and nature are one.

The cottage that glints through the trees,
And the moss-cushioned, lilac-plumed wall,
The woodland, and emerald leas,
Are touched with the spirit of all.

Chambers' Journal.

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THE TOMB AND THE ROSE.

TRANSLATION, FROM VICTOR HUGO.

The tomb asked of the rose:
"What dost thou with the tears, which dawn
Sheds on thee every summer morn,
Thou sweetest flower that blows?"
The rose asked of the tomb:
"What dost thou with the treasures rare,
Thou hidest deep from light and air,
Until the day of doom?"

The rose said: "Home of night,
Deep in my bosom, I distil
Those pearly tears to scents, that fill
The senses with delight."
The tomb said: "Flower of love,
I make of every treasure rare,
Hidden so deep from light and air,
A soul for heaven above!"

Chambers' Journal.A. J. M.

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SONNET

Oft let me wander hand-in-hand with Thought
In woodland paths and lone sequestered shades,
What time the sunny banks and mossy glades,
With dewy wreaths of early violets wrought,
Into the air their fragrant incense fling,
To greet the triumph of the youthful spring.
Lo, where she comes! 'scaped from the icy lair
Of hoary winter; wanton, free, and fair!
Now smile the heavens again upon the earth;
Bright hill and bosky dell resound with mirth;
And voices full of laughter and wild glee
Shout through the air pregnant with harmony,
And wake poor sobbing Echo, who replies
With sleeping voice, that softly, slowly dies.

Chambers' Journal.