ON RECOVERY FROM ILLNESS.
How sweet the rest kind nature brings,
As now she bids my sorrow cease,
And comes with healing on her wings
To give this aching brow release.
This kindly air so sweet and mild,
That greets me like affection's voice, She sends to soothe her suffering child,
And make my drooping heart rejoice.
Hope with unruffled plumes once more Broods buoyant on my tranquil breast, As when the raging storm is o'er
Some light bird floats on waves at rest.
Thanks, gentle friends, whose tender care
Has poured these blessings on my head,
And o'er the gloom of dark despair
The rays of warm affection shed.
"Blest who in the cradle die!
Nought they knew-oh!-envied bliss-
Save a mother's soothing smile,
Save a mother's tender kiss."
AND thou art here, sweet Boy, among
The crowds that come this world to throng!
The loveliest dream of waking life!
Hope of the bosom's secret strife!
Emblem of all the heart can love!
Vision of all that's bright above!
Pledge, promise of remember'd years!
Seal of pure souls, yet bought with tears!
Hail! CHILD OF LOVE!-I linger yet
Around thy couch, where slumber sweet
Hangs on thine eyelids' living shroud;
And thoughts and dreamings, thickly crowd
Upon the mind, like gleams of light
Which sweep along the darksome night,
Lurid and strange, all fearful sent
In flashings o'er the firmament!
Oh! wake not from that tranquil sleep!
Too soon 'twill break, and thou shalt weep,
Such is thy destiny and doom,
O'er this long past and long to come;
Earth's mockery, guilt, and nameless wo;
The pangs which thou canst only know;
All crowded in a little span,
The being of the creature Man!
Ah! little deemest thou my child,
The way of life is dark and wild;
Its sunshine, but a light, whose play
Serves but to dazzle and betray;
Weary and long-its end, the tomb,
Where darkness spreads her wings of gloom!
That resting place of things which live,
The goal, of all that earth can give!
It may be, that the dreams of fame,
Proud Glory's plume, the warrior's name,
Shall lure thee to the field of blood;
There like a god, war's fiery flood
May bear thee on! while far above,
Thy crimson banners proudly move,
Like the red clouds which skirt the sun,
When the fierce tempest-day is done!
Or lead thee to a cloistered cell,
Where Learning's votaries lonely dwell;
The midnight lamp and brow of care;
The frozen heart that mocks despair;
Consumption's fires to burn thy cheek;
The brain that throbs, but will not break;
The travail of the soul, to gain
A name, and die--alas! in vain !
Thou reckest not sweet slumberer, there,
Of this world's crimes; of many a snare
To catch the soul; of pleasures wild,
Friends false-foes dark-and hearts beguiled;
Of Passion's ministers who sway
With iron sceptre, all who stray;
Of broken hearts-still loving on,
When all is lost, and changed, and gone!
What is it, that thou wilt not prove?
Power, Wealth, Dominion, Grandeur, Love
All the soul's idols in their turn!
And find each false, yet wildly burn
To grasp at all—and love the cheat;
Smile, when the ravening vultures eat
Into thy very bosom's core,
And drink up that—which is not gore!
Thy tears shall flow, and thou shalt weep
As he has wept who eyes thy sleep,
But weeps no more-his heart is cold,
Warped, sickened, seared, with woes untold.
And be it so! the clouds which roll
Dark, heavy o'er my troubled soul,
Bring with them lightnings which illume,
To shroud the mind in deeper gloom!
But no! dear boy, my earnest prayer
Shall call on heaven to bless thee here!
Long may'st thou live to love thy kind-
Brave, generous, of a lofty mind!
Thy Father live again in thee,
Thy Mother long her virtues see
Brightly reflected forth in thine-
Her solace in life's sad decline.
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