198
LINES,
ON CHANTRY'S MONUMENT OF THE TWO CHILDREN IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL.
They sleep—in what a deep and silent calm
Those gentle heads repose; how softly fair
Those young and tranquil features; with the dawn
Of youth and innocence, and tender girlhood,
Just traced upon them: the pure, stainless marble,
That gives again to life the pallid brow,
And opening beauty of the faded cheek,
Is not so pure as they were: those mild forms,
So fondly resting in each other's arms,
Sheltered by death, in their first loveliness,
Ere thought had cast a shade upon their smile,
Or grief had entered in their quiet hearts,
Or passion had disturbed then guileless lives,
Were gathered for eternity. They sleep—
The infant slumbering on its mother's breast,
Lies not so tranquil; no, the mariner,
When, vexed with many sleepless days and nights,
Those gentle heads repose; how softly fair
Those young and tranquil features; with the dawn
Of youth and innocence, and tender girlhood,
Just traced upon them: the pure, stainless marble,
That gives again to life the pallid brow,
And opening beauty of the faded cheek,
Is not so pure as they were: those mild forms,
So fondly resting in each other's arms,
Sheltered by death, in their first loveliness,
Ere thought had cast a shade upon their smile,
Or grief had entered in their quiet hearts,
Or passion had disturbed then guileless lives,
Were gathered for eternity. They sleep—
The infant slumbering on its mother's breast,
Lies not so tranquil; no, the mariner,
When, vexed with many sleepless days and nights,
