THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD.

FROM THE FRENCH OF REBOUL.

An angel bent with pensive air Above an infant’s dream,

And seemed to view his image there As in a stainless stream.

“O beauteous child!” he said, “I see”— His breath like music’s sigh—

“The earth is all unworthy thee: Come with me to the sky.

“Earth has no happiness complete; The soul can never lift

Thee to a height where round thy feet No clouds of pain will drift.

“At every feast, unbidden guest, Some fear will still intrude:

No day so calm but in its breast The morrow’s storm may brood.

“And shall care leave with passing years Its impress on this brow?

And sorrows dim with growing tears These eyes so tranquil now?

“No, no, sweet child! Come, let us mount Above the fields of space;

Kind Heaven will cancel the account Of life’s foreshadowed days.

“I pray no selfish grief may view This day with mournful eyes,

Or with reproachful words pursue Our way to paradise.

“But let your mother lift her brow To Faith’s serenest light;

To one as innocent as thou, Life’s last hour shines most bright.”

A subtle radiance from his wings Upon the child was shed;

The angel mounting upward, sings: “Poor mother! thy child is dead.”