THE VIRGIN's CRADLE-HYMN.

Copied from a Print of the Virgin, in a Catholic village in Germany.

DORMI, Jesu! Mater ridet,
Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!

Si non dormis, Mater plorat,

Inter fila cantans orat

Blande, veni, somnule.

ENGLISH.

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:

Mother sits beside thee smiling:

Sleep, my darling, tenderly!

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
Singing as her wheel she turneth:

Come, soft slumber, balmily!

EPITAPH, ON AN INFANT.

Its balmy lips the Infant blest Relaxing from its Mother's breast, How sweet it heaves the happy sigh Of innocent Satiety !

And such my Infant's latest sigh!
O tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby

MELANCHOLY.*

A FRAGMENT.

STRETCH'D on a moulder'd Abbey's broadest wall,
Where ruining ivies propt the ruins steep-
Her folded arms wrapping her tatter'd pall,
Had MELANCHOLY mus'd herself to sleep.
The fern was press'd beneath her hair,

The dark green Adder's Tongue § was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,

The long lank leaf bow'd fluttering o'er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flush'd: her eager look
Beam'd eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,

And her bent forehead work'd with troubled thought.
Strange was the dream that fill'd her soul,
Nor did not whispering spirits roll

A mystic tumult, and a fateful rhyme

Mixt with wild shapings of the unborn time.

* First published in the Morning Chronicle, in the year 1794.

§ A botanical mistake. The plant, I meant, is called the Hart's Tongue; but this would unluckily spoil the poetical effect. ergo Botanice.

Cedat

TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE.

Imitated from Stolberg.

I.

MARK this holy chapel well!

The Birth-place, this, of WILLIAM TELL.

Here, where stands God's altar dread,

Stood his parents' marriage-bed.

II.

Here first, an infant to her breast,

Him his loving mother prest;

And kiss'd the babe, and bless'd the day,

And pray'd as mothers use to pray.

III.

"Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give

The child thy servant still to live!”

But God had destined to do more

Through him, than through an armed power.

IV.

God

gave

him reverence of laws,

Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause

A spirit to his rocks akin,

The eye of the Hawk, and the fire therein!

V.

To Nature and to Holy writ

Alone did God the boy commit:

Where flash'd and roar'd the torrent, oft

His soul found wings, and soar'd aloft!

VI.

The straining oar and chamois chase

Had form'd his limbs to strength and grace:

On wave and wind the boy would toss,

Was great, nor knew how great he was!

VII.

He knew not that his chosen hand,
Made strong by God, his native land
Would rescue from the shameful yoke
Of Slaverythe which he broke !