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Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; Cobbett will soon
Move to abolish the sun and moon ;
Hume, no doubt, will be taking the sense
Of the House on a saving of thirteen pence;
Grattan will growl, or Baldwin bray ;-
Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep while you may !

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; dream of the time
When loyalty was not quite a crime;
When Grant was a pupil in Canning's school ;
When Palmerston fancied Wood a fool ;
Lord, how principles pass away!
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep, while you may !

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sweet to men
Is the sleep that cometh but now and then ;
Sweet to the sorrowful, sweet to the ill,
Sweet to the children that work in a mill;
You have more need of sleep than they ;-
Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep, sleep while you may !


VIRGIN Mother, thou hast known
Joy and sorrow like my own ;
In thy arms the bright Babe lay,
As my own in mine to-day ;

So he wept and so he smiled ;
Ave Mary! guard my child !

From the pains and perils spread
Round about our path and bed,
Fierce desires, ambitious schemes,
Moody doubts, fantastic dreams,

Pleasures idle, passions wild,
Ave Mary! guard my child !


Make him whatsoe'er may be
Dearest to the saints and thee;
Tell him, from the throne above,
What to loathe and what to love;

To be true and just and mild,
Ave Mary! teach my child !


By the wondrous mercy won
For the world by thy blest son,
By the rest his labours wrought,
By the bliss his tortures bought,

By the Heaven he reconciled,
Ave Mary ! bless my child !

If about his after fate
Sin and sorrow darkly wait,
Take him rather to thine arms
From the world and the world's harms;

Thus unscathed, thus undefiled,
Ave Mary! take my child !



Now the rite is duly done;

Now the word is spoken ; And the spell has made us one

Which may ne'er be broken :
Rest we, dearest, in our home, -

Roam we o'er the heather,
We shall rest, and we shall roam,

Shall we not ? together.

From this hour the summer rose

Sweeter breathes to charm us ; From this hour the winter snows

Lighter fall to harm us : Fair or foul-on land or sea

Come the wind or weather, Best or worst, whate'er they be,

We shall share together.


Death, who friend from friend can part,

Brother rend from brother, Shall but link us, heart and heart,

Closer to each other : We will call his anger play,

Deem his dart a feather,

Hand in hand together.



(October 10, 1836.) My pretty, budding, breathing flower,

Methinks, if I to-morrow
Could manage, just for half-an-hour,

Sir Joshua's brush to borrow,
I might immortalise a few

of all the myriad graces Which Time, while yet they all are new,

With newer still replaces. I'd paint, my child, your deep blue eyes,

Their quick and earnest flashes ; I'd paint the fringe that round them lies,

The fringe of long dark lashes;
I'd draw with most fastidious care

One eyebrow, then the other,
And that fair forehead, broad and fair,

The forehead of your mother.
I'd oft retouch the dimpled cheek

Where health in sunshine dances ;
And oft the pouting lips, where speak

A thousand voiceless fancies; And the soft neck would keep me long,

The neck, more smooth and snowy
Than ever yet in schoolboy's song

Had Caroline or Chloe.
Nor less on those twin rounded arms
My new-found skill would linger,

Nor less upon the rosy charms

Of every tiny finger;
Nor slight the small feet, little one,

So prematurely clever
That, though they neither walk nor run,

I think they'd jump for ever.

But then your odd endearing ways-
-- What study ere could catch them?
Your aimless gestures, endless plays-

What canvass ere could match them?
Your lively leap of merriment,

Your murmur of petition, Your serious silence of content,

Your laugh of recognition.

Here were a puzzling toil, indeed,

For Art's most fine creations !Grow on, sweet baby ; we will need,

To note your transformations,
No picture of your form or face,

Your waking or your sleeping,
But that which Love shall daily trace,

And trust to Memory's keeping.

Hereafter, when revolving years

Have made you tall and twenty, And brought you blended hopes and fears,

And sighs and slaves in plenty, May those who watch our little saint

Among her tasks and duties, Feel all her virtues hard to paint,

As now we deem her beauties.

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