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Rest, rest, dear babe! in balmy sleep reposing,
No care, no sorrow moves thy tranquil breast; Rest, till the dawn thy gentle eyes unclosing,
Shall wake that smile in which alone I'm blest.
Hush thee, sweet babe ! let nought disturb thy slumbers,
Thy mother fondly o'er thy cradle hung,
For thee her vigils thus beguiles with song.
Alas! my child, for thee no father's bosom
Throbs to soft sympathy and fond alarm;
And screens its weakness from life's gathering storm.
In vain with tears and suppliant accents blended,
His infant seeks its sacred rights to claim;
Honour and truth -- to him—are but a name.
Vainly to him this faithful heart appealing,
Which passion's tenderest, truest flame still warms, Urges those oft-pledged vows, each generous feeling,
Though now forgot — which gave me to his arms.
How can he thus forego the soft relations,
That bind with mutual ties his soul to me? How can he lose those ever-dear sensations,
Which swell to rapture as I gaze on thee?
Oft o'er thy lovely form while pensive musing,
His smile, his features, with delight I trace, Each painful thought in melting fondness losing,
I clasp his image in my child's embrace.
O may that Power, who hears my sad lamenting,
And guards my nursling with a parent's eye, Restore his heart, at nature's voice relenting,
To faith's firm bonds, and love's forgiving sigh!
Sleep on, dear babe! no thoughts like these oppress thee,
Mild innocence thy peaceful temples crowns; No anxious doubts, no keen regrets distress thee,
No brooding care around thy cradle frowns.
Those tranquil looks suspend thy mother's anguish,
Those artless smiles her drooping heart sustain; Victim of broken vows, though doomed to languish,
She lives in thee to peace and hope again!
NAPOLEON AT THE KREMLIN.
BY MRS. CHARLES GORE.
Deeply shadowed by the night,
On the platformed tower he stands;
With the dream of conquered lands,
Where his plumed host appears,
Hushed in silent midnight sleep
The city lies below;
As he paceth to and fro,
Lo! kindling one by one,
“Say! hath the licensed hour,
With years of danger bought,
To my hardy veterans taught
Have they bade yon flames arise
“ Or doth my warriors' mirth
Yon fires in triumph raise,
With the terrors of their blaze?
Doth yon flood of radiance flow
“ Lo! its fury rageth higher,
Columned upward to the sky, Like that pyramid of fire
Which shone, of old, on high,
Soldiers of Fame ! come forth,
“ Tear down each smoking wall
Of her city doomed to death, Ere her towers unaided fall,
Lie bravely earthed beneath, Where the bulwarks of her strength darkly nod !"
“ Invader! stay thy hand, -
“ Dreamedst thou with patient grief
They would look on, to see The conqueror of their chief
Issue forth his proud decree,
Rather, let ruin come!
“ Hark! the gathering flames roar round
Like the ocean's troubled bed! With a fiery shower, the ground
And the stifling air are red ;
Where the stores of ordnance lie
“ The sulphurous smoke pours down
To mock the conqueror's flightFlames gather like a crown
Round the Kremlin's sacred height :Invader! thy minions shall find
That before the blazing war
WITH A PRESENT OF A KNIFE.
A knife, dear girl, cuts love, they say;
any tool of any kind
you, A summer- and a short one too! All that affection feels and fears, When hours, without you, seem like years. Till that be done, (and I 'd as soon Believe this knife will chip the moon) Accept my present undeterred, And leave their proverbs to be heard. If in a kiss - delicious treat! Your lips acknowledge its receipt; Love, fond of such substantial fare, And proud to play the glutton there, All thoughts of cutting will disdain, Save only-cut and come again.