She went her way with a strong step and slow; Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. The morning past, and Asia's sun rose up Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ; And, shrouding up her face, she went away, And sat to watch, where he could see her not, "God stay thee in thine agony, my boy; And see death settle on my cradle-joy. "I did not dream of this when thou wast straying, By the rich gush of water-sources playing, "Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while, In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile, 66 And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white delicate limbs the earth will press : And oh! my last caress Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. She stood beside the well her God had given "THE HEARTH," AN UNFINISHED POEM. [EXTRACT.] WILSON. AND lo! an infant shows his gladsome face! Lies on his mother's bosom like a rose Hushed by his mother's prayer! How soft her tread H THE THREE SONS. MOULTRIE. I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould. They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave, and wise of heart beyond his childish years. I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair, And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air : I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me, But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fer vency: But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills his mind, The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk; He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball, But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all. His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes per plext With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about the next. He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to pray, And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which he will say. Oh, should my child be spared to manhood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be: And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel were I to lose him now. I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three ; I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be, |