* * * * *
THOMAS HOOD.
1798-1845.
_The Death-Bed_.
We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
* * * * *
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.
* * * * *
_The Bridge of Sighs_.
One more Unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death.
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly
Young, and so fair!
* * * * *
SAMUEL ROGERS.
_Human Life_.
A guardian-angel o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
* * * * *
The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts--touch them but rightly--pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!
Then, never less alone than when alone,
Those that he loved so long and sees no more,
Loved and still loves--not dead, but gone before--
He gathers round him.
* * * * *
_A Wish_.
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.
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