Statue of flesh-immortal of the dead! Imperishable type of evanescence ! Why should this worthless tegument endure, O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue, that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. TO A DYING INFANT. D. M. MOIR. SLEEP, little baby! sleep! Yes, with the quiet dead, Baby! thy rest shall be Oh! many a weary wight, Weary of life and light, Would fain lie down with thee! Flee, little tender nursling! Flee to thy grassy nest There the first flowers shall blow, The first pure flake of snow Shall fall upon thy breast. Peace! peace! the little bosom Labours with shortening breath; Speaks his departure nigh Those are the damps of death. Now, like a dewdrop shrined Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove ! And when the hour arrives, From flesh that sets me free, Thy spirit may await The first at heaven's gate, To meet and welcome me. THE INCARNATION. For thou wast born of woman, thou didst come, And not by thunders strewed Was thy tempestuous road, Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way; But thee, a soft and naked child,. Thy mother, undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast. The heavens were not commanded to prepare A gorgeous canopy of golden air; MILMAN. Nor stooped their lamps the enthroned fires on high; Came wandering from afar, Gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky; As at a kingly throne, To lay their gold and odours sweet Before thy infant feet. The earth and ocean were not hushed to hear And seraphs' burning lyres, Poured through the host of heaven the charmed clouds along; One angel troop the strain began, Of all the race of man, By simple shepherds heard alone, That soft Hosanna's tone. And when thou didst depart, no car of flame To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came; From fatal Calvary With all thine own redeemed outbursting from their tombs ; For thou didst bear away from earth But one of human birth, The dying felon by thy side, to be In Paradise with thee. Nor o'er thy cross did clouds of vengeance break; A little while the conscious earth did shake At that foul deed by her fierce children done; The world in darkness lay, Then basked in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun : Consenting to thy doom, Ere yet the white-robed Angel shone Upon the sealed stone. And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand Thy mother's coming feet, And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few: Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise Into thy native skies, Thy human form dissolved on high THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. LONGFELLOW. A MIST came driving down the British Channel; And through the window panes, on floor and panel, It glanced on rippling flag, and glowing pennon: And from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover To see the French war-steamers speeding over Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions Their cannon through the night, Holding their breath, had watched in grim defiance And now they roared, at drum-beat from their stations Each answering each, with morning salutations, And down the coast all taking up the burden, As if to summon from his sleep, the Warden, |