CHANTREY'S SLEEPING CHILDREN.

BY THE REV. W. LISLE BOWLES.

Look at those sleeping children!—softly tread,
Lest thou do mar their dream, and come not nigh
Till their fond mother, with a kiss, shall cry

"'Tis morn, awake! awake!" Ah! they are dead !→→
Yet folded in each others arms they lie-
So still-oh, look!-so still and smilingly
So breathing and so beautiful they seem
As if to die in youth were but to dream

Of spring and flowers!of flowers ?-Yet nearer stand-
There is a lily in one little hand,

Broken, but not faded yet,

As if its cup with tears was wet.

So sleeps that child, not faded, though in death,→

And seeming still to hear her sister's breath,

As when she first did lay her head to rest

Gently on that sister's breast,

And kissed her ere she fell asleep!

296 CHANTREY'S SLEEPING CHILDREN.

Th' archangel's trump alone shall wake that slumber deep. "Take up those flowers that fell

From the dead hand, and sigh a long farewell!

Your spirits rest in bliss!

Yet ere with parting prayers we say

Farewell for ever! to the' insensate clay,

Poor maid, those pale lips we will kiss!"

Ah! 'tis cold marble !-Artist, who hast wrought
This work of nature, feeling, and of thought,—
Thine, Chantrey, be the fame

That joins to immortality thy name.

-For these sweet children that so sculptured rest

A sister's head upon a sister's breast

Age after age shall pass away,

Nor shall their beauty fade, their forms decay.

For here is no corruption-the cold worm
Can never prey upon that beauteous form :
This smile of death that fades not, shall engage
The deep affections of each distant age!
Mothers, till ruin the round world hath rent,
Shall gaze with tears upon the monument!
And fathers sigh, with half-suspended breath,
"How sweetly sleep the innocent in death!"

July 2, 1826.

STANZAS.

Suggested by a Book of Church Offices.

BY THE REV. FRANCIS HODGSON.

I.

HAIL, solemn register of hopes and fears,
Record divine of man's uncertain race;

How does thy page recall our smiles and tears,
Each blooming promise, and each withering grace!

II.

Yet all the varied picture points to thee,

Poor, lost Monimia! On thy nuptial day,

Yon happy train in bridal white I see,
Strewing with rosy wreaths the village way.

III.

I hear the holy words that made thee his

Who loved thee long ;-I mark thee kneel again,

To thank thy Maker for a mother's bliss,

And vow thy child to Heaven. Ah, pleasures vain!

IV.

Ah, fading flowers of time! Another year,
And, lo! beside thy bed the sorrowing priest
Bends in calm faith-and soon the dark-plumed bier
Waves silence round, and speaks a soul released.

V.

What ray of joy on his lone journey gleams,

Whose breaking heart resigned thee to thy God? The thought, that when our sun withdraws its beams, It lives, and glitters in some far abode ;—

VI.

The trust, that when those beams shall shine no more, His vanished light in other worlds shall wake; With him shall wonder, and with him adore,

Blest in one mansion for their Saviour's sake.

NIGHT IN GREECE.

BY MISS ANNA MARIA PORTER.

wide ;

THE silent moon hath climbed the sky,
Her silver torch is gleaming high!—
From heaven's steep battlements she looks
O'er woods, and dells, and leaf-strewn brooks;
O'er mountain-wilds, and isles that gem
Our dark sea's sparkling diadem!
Her fleecy veil all thrown aside,
With throbbing heart she gazes
And, as she seeks her hunter-love,
Her torch inclined o'er Latmos' grove,
Rests on one grot, where Echo wakes,
As some lone horn the stillness breaks.
Ah! gentle queen, 'tis not his breath
Which winds that plaintive music's wreath!
Endymion's foot is distant far!-
Heeding no more thy beckoning star,
He asks not now, her lamp, to show
Thy bashful uprise, soft and slow!-