THE CHILD'S GRAVE. 329 



mated, that as one, and so great a mistake had already been made, 

 it was more than possible, that I also might be in error ; I therefore 

 begged, to be allowed to view the body a second time, and on my 

 return did not find myself by any means so certain as I had been, 

 on the former occasion ; my grief was therefore, in some measure^ 

 moderated, and I left the room, expressing my determination, in- 

 stantly to go in pursuit of my sister. 



THE CHILD'S GRAVE. 



Sleep on! 'tis better far for thee, 



Within thy narrow cell, 

 In peace to rest, than still with me, 



In shame and grief to dwell. 



From dust we spring, and must again 



To rest in dust return ; 

 And thou art gone 'ere grief and pain 



Could triumph o'er thine urn. 



Thine infant heart hath never bled, 



And now can never bleed, 

 Like mine o'er peace and pleasure fled, 



A barren hopeless weed. 

 The primrose pale, above thy tomb, 



Springs gently into life-, 

 Sweet emblem of the child with whom 



The sepulchre is rife. 

 The morning dew the noon-day sun 



The peaceful calm of eve 

 Are nought to thee ; thy goal is won, 



Thou hast no life to leave. 



But every day, and every hour, 



Are messengers to me, 

 And every year a higher tower, 



From which I look towards thee. 



And yet how vain to deem this eye 



Will see thee smile again ; 

 And o'er thy grave at eve to sigh 



How madly, fondly, vain. 

 Farewell my child ! My fallen leaf, 



My flower of purest love ; 

 I bear with joy the weight of grief. 



So thou art blest above. 

 Sleep on ! sleep on ! the grave is deep ; 



No pang can reach thy breast ; 

 A parent's prayers their vigil keep ; 



A mother guards thy rest. 



M. 



M. M. No. 9^. 2 U 



