A PRESENTIMENT. "OH father, let us hence-for hark, A winged giant sails the sky; Oh father, father, let us fly!" 66 "Hush, child; it is a grateful sound, That beating of the summer shower; Here, where the boughs hang close around We'll pass a pleasant hour, Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain, Has swept the broad heaven clear again." "Nay, father, let us haste-for see, Oh father, father, let us fly!" "Hush child; " but, as the father spoke, Downward the livid firebolt came, Close to his ear the thunder broke, The child lay dead; while dark and still THE CHILD'S FUNERAL. FAIR is thy sight, Sorrento, green thy shore, Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies; The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore, As clear and bluer still before thee lies. Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire, Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue, Currents of fragrance, from the orange-tree, Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow. Yet even here, as under harsher climes, Tears for the loved and early lost are shed; That soft air saddens with the funeral-chimes, Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead. Here once a child, a smiling playful one, All the day long caressing and caressed, Died when its little tongue had just begun To lisp the names of those it loved the best The father strove his struggling grief to quell, When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep. Within an inner room his couch they spread, His funeral-couch; with mingled grief and love, They laid a crown of roses on his head, And murmured, “Brighter is his crown above." They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet, And orange-blossoms on their dark-green stems. And now the hour is come, the priest is there; The door is opened; hark! that quick glad cry; Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play; The little sisters laugh and leap, and try To climb the bed on which the infant lay. And there he sits alive, and gayly shakes In his full hands, the blossoms red and white, And smiles with winking eyes, like one who wakes From long deep slumbers at the morning light. THE BATTLE-FIELD. ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her braveGushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine, are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry, Oh, be it never heard again! Soon rested those who fought; but thou A friendless warfare! lingering long Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, The sage may frown-yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed THE FUTURE LIFE. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps When all of thee that time could wither sleeps |