His eye is closed—he sleeps—how still his breath!
But for the tints his flowery cheek reveals,
He seems to slumber in the arms of death.
Awake my child!—I tremble with affright!—
Awaken!—Fatal thought, thou art no more!—
My child!—one moment gaze upon the light,
And e’en with thy repose my life restore.
Blest error! still he sleeps—I breathe again—
May gentle dreams delight his calm repose!
But when will he, for whom I sigh—oh when