THEY are sleeping!-Who are sleeping? Children, wearied with their play;
For the stars of night are peeping,
And the sun hath sunk away.
As the dew upon the blossoms
Bows them on their slender stem,
So, as light as their own bosoms,
Balmy sleep hath conquered them.
They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Mortals, compassed round with woe;
Eyelids, wearied out with weeping,
Close for very weakness now:
And that short relief from sorrow,
Harassed nature shall sustain,
'Till they wake again to-morrow,
Strengthened to contend with pain!
They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Captives in their gloomy cells;
Yet sweet dreams are o'er them creeping,
With their many-coloured spells.
All they love again they clasp them;
Feel again their long-lost joys;
But the haste with which they grasp them
Every fairy form destroys.
They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Misers, by their hoarded gold;
And in fancy now are heaping
Gems and pearls, of price untold. Golden chains their limbs encumber, Diamonds seem before them strown; But they waken from their slumber, And the splendid dream is flown.
They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Pause a moment,-softly tread;
Anxious friends are fondly keeping
Vigils by the sleeper's bed!
Other hopes have all forsaken,—
One remains,—that slumber deep;
Speak not, lest the slumberer waken
From that sweet-that saving sleep.
They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Thousands who have passed away,
From a world of woe and weeping,
To the regions of decay!
Safe they rest, the green turf under;
Sighing breeze, or music's breath,
Winter's wind, or summer's thunder,
Cannot break the sleep of death!
ENCHANTMENT all!-the traveller spell-bound,
Imparadised in wonder, half-dismayed,
And pacing with inaudible foot the ground,
Scarce breathes, lest melting into ether fade
The wild, deep avenue of rock and glade,
The waterfall, the glen, the mountains 'round;
From whose dread sanctuary the world's parade
Draws back discountenanced; for not a sound
Of Circe's tongue or Sirèn's lay is here:
No harp that vibrates to a touch profane ;
No tempter blandishing with airs of heaven;
But the pure soul of poetry, the strain
That bursts upon the dying martyr's ear,
Bethabara's call-Repent, and be forgiven !
He sought her east, he sought her west, The vision, that had blessed his sight, She robbed his bosom of its rest,
Of joy by day, of sleep by night;He turned and turned to shun his care, Only to miss her every where !
In vain for him o'er fields of flowers
The mighty star of day arose ;
In vain for him, 'mid jasmine bowers,
The nightingale, at twilight's close,
Sang to the gathering lamps of night :-
In nought his spirit asked delight!
Published by Longman Rees Orme Brown. & Green. Nov 1828.
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