Confusion and dismay, together mingled, Forced such a feeble "Yes!" out of my mouth, To understand it one had need of sight. Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is discharged, Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, And with less force the arrow hits the mark ; So I gave way under this heavy burden, passage. SPRING. FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS. XV. CENTURY. GENTLE Spring!—in sunshine clad, For Winter maketh the light heart sad, When thy merry step draws near. Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, Who has toiled for nought both late and early, Is banished afar by the new-born year, When thy merry step draws near. THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH. SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ;'T is sweet to watch for thee,— alone for thee! His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? Awake, my boy!-I tremble with affright! Awake, and chase this fatal thought!- Unclose Thine eye but for one moment on the light! Even at the price of thine, give me repose ! Sweet error!-he but slept, I breathe again; Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! O! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, Beside me watch to see thy waking smile? |