Promising that he should suffer No more in a little while, Murmuring tender song and story Weary hours to beguile. Suddenly an unseen Presence Checked those constant moaning cries, Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, Raised those blue and wondering eyes, Fixed on some mysterious vision, With a startled sweet surprise. For a radiant angel hovered, Snowy dove-like pinions spread, While, with tender love, the angel, So the angel, slowly rising, Spread his wings; and, through the air, Bore the child, and while he held him To his heart with loving care, Placed a branch of crimson roses While the child, thus clinging, floated "Know, dear little one, that Heaven "Once in that great town below us, "All the striving anxious forethought That should only come with age, Weighed upon his baby spirit, Showed him soon life's sternest page: Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow Was his only heritage. "All too weak for childish pastimes, On his hands so small and trembling "Dreaming strange and longing fancies. Coming home through green lanes, bearing Trailing boughs of blooming May. "Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven Gleamed above that narrow street, And the sultry air of Summer (That you call so warm and sweet) Fevered the poor Orphan, dwelling In the crowded alley's heat. "One bright day, with feeble footsteps "There were trees with giant branches, Velvet glades where shadows hide : There were sparkling fountains glancing, Flowers, which in luxuriant pride Even wafted breaths of perfume To the child who stood outside "He against the gate of iron Pressed his wan and wistful face, "You were playing in that garden, "When your servants, tired of seeing Gave him coin, and bade him gc, Down his cheeks so thin and wasted, Bitter tears began to flow. But that look of childish sorrow On your tender child-heart fell, And you plucked the reddest roses From the tree you loved so well, Passed them through the stern cold grating, Gently bidding him 'Farewell!" "Dazzled by the fragrant treasure "So he crept to his poor garret : Poor no more, but rich and bright, For the holy dreams of childhoodLove, and Rest, and Hope, and LightFloated round the Orphan's pillow Through the starry summer night. 'Day dawned, yet the visions lasted; Did he dream that none spake harshly- Surely then his treasured roses Must have charmed all ills away. "And he smiled, though they were fading; One by one their leaves were shed; 'Such bright things could never perish, They would bloom again,' he said. When the next day's sun had risen Child and flowers both were dead. |