THE CHILD RESTORED.
FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.
So long had wept this mother, so implored,
So pressed against her heart the head adored,
The livid forehead of her dying child,
That to the frozen breast the marble brow,
As by a miracle, returned the glow
Of life and light; and, with a fervent joy,
She thanked the God who gave her back her boy;
But from that hour the infant never smiled!
Three months had passed since then, and still the gloom
That seemed to linger from his unfilled tomb
Remained unbroken; one might almost think
That, when the spirit trembled on the brink
Of death, some pitying angel made a change
To soothe maternal grief. So sad and strange
Was the young, drooping head, the silent mood,
His mother dared not, in her gratitude,
Missing his joyous laugh, his happy voice
And glance, even in embracing him, rejoice.
From open casements song and laughter ring,
From turrets high the chimes their carols fling.
"Listen, my Louis. 'Tis the happy day
When the New Year bids little children play
With their new gifts, all merry for his sake!
What playthings will my little Louis take?
Wilt have this snow-white sheep, with silken string,
That thou canst lead to pasture in the spring?
Not this? Well, then, these paints, these brushes, made
To color paper flowers that will not fade?
Or, see! this gay, rebounding woollen ball,
That falls and springs from earth, again to fall?
Thou dost not love to play? Thou canst not run?
What shall I give thee, then, my cherished son?
"Tell me thy secret in one little word;
Thy mother fails to guess thy baby need.
Say, wilt thou have this pretty, gilded sword
To make thee a great captain? No, indeed!
Then this thatched cottage, with its drooping eaves,
This open book, with all its pictured leaves?
No! still the little, mournful, waving hand.
Would that thy mother had a fairy wand
To bear thee something that would make thee smile!
Might not these singing birds thy thoughts beguile,
These blooming flowers? Whisper me, tell me, love,
While I embrace thee—I who love thee so—
Louis, what wantest thou? My darling, say!"
He murmured—"Only wings to flee away."