No sound her peaceful slumber broke,
But one, whose gentle face bespoke
True goodness, took her costly cloak
In tender, thoughtful way,
And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,
Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,
O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,
And softly stepped away.
So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart
Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,
Thou hast a nearer, dearer part
In his great love for thee;
And when life's shadows all are gone,
May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn
To thee who, unaware, hast drawn
Our hearts in sympathy.
Lightning-bugs.
Around my vine-wreathed portico,
At evening, there's a perfect glow
Of little lights a-flashing—
As if the stellar bodies had
From super-heat grown hyper-mad,
And spend their ire in clashing.
As frisky each as shooting star,
These tiny electricians are
The Lampyrine Linnæan—
Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam
Like scintillations in a dream
Of something empyrean.
They brush my face, light up my hair,
My garments touch, dart everywhere;
And if I try to catch them
They're quicker than the wicked flea—
And then I wonder how 'twould be
To have a dress to match them.
To be a "princess in disguise,"
And wear a robe of fireflies
All strung and wove together,
And be the cynosure of all
At Madame Haut-ton's carnival,
In fashion's gayest feather.
So, sudden, falls upon the grass
The overpow'ring light of gas,
And through the lattice streaming;
As wearily I close my eyes
Brief are the moments that suffice
To reach the land of dreaming.