LLEWELLYN.
Though Death should grimly stalk into the house,
And stand beside the slumber of a child,
Think you that gazing on its mimic self,
Sleep, beautiful and wondrous, in the crib,
His owlish thoughts would not wing suddenly,
Through cycles of decay, back to the time
When he was one with Sleep, and passing fair;
Think you he would not sigh, "Sleep, on! sleep on!
Thou copy and thou counterfeit of me,
And teach the world that I was beautiful."
The child is sleeping.