Page:Literary Souvenir 1826.pdf/9

I looked upon the altar,—there
    The pictured semblance lay
Of him the temple's lord; it shone
    More beautiful than day.

It was a sleeping child, as fair
    As the first-born of spring;
Like Indian gold waved the bright curls
    In many a sunny ring.

His cheek was flushed with its own rose,
    And with the crimson shed
From the rich wings that like a cloud
    Were o'er his slumbers spread.

And by him lay his feathered shafts,
    His golden bow unbent;—
Methought that, even in his sleep,
    His smile was on them sent.

I heard them hymn his name—his power,—
    I heard them, and I smiled;
How could they say the earth was ruled
    By but a sleeping child?

I went then forth into the world
    To see what might be there;
And there I heard a voice of woe,
    Of weeping, and despair.