MY LITTLE
SON.—-SONNET.
43
diately by Mr. Talbot. His face was full of stern resolution; but he seemed quite exhausted; and he turned eagerly to note how far he was from the shore.
My heart beat wild and fast. Oh! would no one go to their aid? Could he make any headway! Yes! he did. He struck boldly out; he rode that incoming wave triumphantly; he was already twenty feet nearer to the beach.
Alas! for human hope. At that moment, I saw three or four gigantic rollers rushing after him, their lofty fronts towering higher and higher as they approached. The foremost was close upon him. It paused ominously, piling itself up and up, away into the sky. Suddenly, a streak of foam shot along its crest; a sound like thunder followed, as the tons of water descended; and the brave face disappeared, and with it Rosalie. The succeeding waves rolled swiftly in, and broke over the boiling gulf; and everything swam around me. (To BE CONTINUED.)
ON MY LITTLE son, WHO DIED JUNE 29, 1857. BY
PARK BENJAMIN.
When June was beautiful with flowers
My darling passed away:
Alas! I cannot count the hours
From that unhappy day—
It seems to me a life-time now,
Since these and eyes surveyed
“My son! my son! I leave you not
Alone,” my heart replied,
“Yours is a happy, happy lot,
Thus early to have died;
You are not here, my gentle love—
Not here, in this cold sod.
But borne on pinions like a dove,
Dwell with our Father, God."
The marble silence of his brow,
Beneath death's solemn shade.
I kissed it, and the icy touch
Went freezing to my heart;
And ah! I never knew how much
I loved him, till, apart
From all the rest, I softly went
And gazed upon him, dead;
And held his little hand, and bent
In voiceless woe. my head!
“Our Fathcr,"—this he strove to say,
That long and and wretched night,
When in my arms he, dying, lay;
And when the morning light
Shone dimly on his fading eyes,
That oft repeated word
“'ould to his pallitl lips arise,
And “father,” still I heard.
And prayed such prayers as fathers pray,
For solace from above—
‘Then He, who gave, has snatched away
The very soul of love;
And took one last, long, lingering look.
That I might always trace,
Like lettens graven in a book,
That fair and tender face.
And now that voice I sometimes hear
A year. and more, has sadly flown
Since unto earth I gave
But he is vanished—nothing can
Ills darling self restore-—
To me. a sad. heart-broken man,
When I am all alone,
And sometimes on my dreaming ear
Sounds its familiar tone:
And sometimes his beloved smile
Dawns sweetly through the gloom,
And I expect to hear the while
Ills footsteps through the room.
His precious form, and left alone
My treasure in the grave—
Alonel and uh! I heard him say,
As home I came, “My dear,
Dear father, do not go away,
And leave your Harry here!"
He will return no more;
Yet, I shall go to him, and stand
With him in light above,
For God will lend my Harry’s hand
To lead me to His love!
SONNET.
BY
HATTIE H. CHILD.
Mystic and beautiful the tender light
Yet lingering in that; soft and beaming eye;
Over us both the free and Open sky
In“ bu- browl wings to usher in the night,
New, dawn the mountain side does yonder stream
Bras-k, in it. waterfalls, each rising gleam,
ing!!! to multiply the moonbeam bright,
"I‘is fair. ’tis holy; but you risen star
Rules the hushed air, as it' with conscious might;
Ohl let it witness what we dearly plight!
That silver lamp lights happiness from far,
Heaven looks to bless and sant'tify the sight;
Men as the stream reflects the skies above
Does each heart mirror back its heaven of love?
