THE IMAGE OF GOD.

FROM FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.

O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height,
Centred in one the future and the past,

Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast
The world obscures in me what once was bright!
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given,
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;

Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,

For ever green

shall be my

trust in heaven.

Celestial King! O let thy presence pass

Before my spirit, and an image fair

Shall meet that look of mercy from on high,

As the reflected image in a glass

Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there,

And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

THE BROOK.

LAUGH of the mountain!-lyre of bird and tree'
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee!
Although, where'er thy devious current strays,
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's gaze.
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent

As the pure crystal, lets the curious

eye

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!

Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!

VI. French.

SPRING.

FROM CHARLES D'ORLEANS.-XV. CENTURY.

GENTLE Spring!-in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou,-thou makest the sad heart gay.

He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,

The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low;

And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,

Mope like birds that are changing feather.

But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh!

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, Who has toiled for nought both late and early, Is banished afar by the new-born year,

When thy merry step draws near.

THE CHILD ASLEEP.

SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

Upon that tender eye, my little friend,

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ;"T is sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee!

His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;

His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,

Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?

Awake, my boy!-I tremble with affright!

Awake, and chase this fatal thought!-Unclose

Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!

Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again;—
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
O! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?