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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,
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs,
And the voice, fainting, flagged upon

its passage.

SPRING.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS.

XV. CENTURY.

Gentle Spring !— in sunshine clad,

Well dost thou thy power display ! For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou, — thou makest the sad heart gay. He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain ; And they shrink away, and they fee in fear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,

Their beards of icicles and snow; And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low ; And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Mope like birds that are changing feather. But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky

Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ;

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 on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed ! Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place

Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

Upon that tender eye, my little friend,

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; —

'Tis 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! 0! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,

Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?

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