THE MUSICAL BOX.
The little incident, which forms the subject of the following lines, is full of touching beauty and interest. When all other expedients, which love could suggest, had failed to pacify the moanings of an infant's grief, the melody of a musical box, by some sweet magic, soothed its sorrow, and soon lulled it into the placid and beautiful slumber of infancy.
Though but a simple lure we used, when all save that had failed,
Yet that to soothe thy infant grief, by some sweet spell, availled;
And as its gentle cadence seemed to fall upon thy ear,
It sweetly checked the rising sob,—turned back the starting tear.
Yet that to soothe thy infant grief, by some sweet spell, availled;
And as its gentle cadence seemed to fall upon thy ear,
It sweetly checked the rising sob,—turned back the starting tear.
When first that low-breathed melody so gently o'er thee broke,
What thoughts within thy heart's deep cells in silent beauty woke?
What vision beamed across thy soul, as on thine ear it fell,
That thus thy voice, so sad, yet dear, a sweeter strain could swell?
What thoughts within thy heart's deep cells in silent beauty woke?
What vision beamed across thy soul, as on thine ear it fell,
That thus thy voice, so sad, yet dear, a sweeter strain could swell?
Say, didst thou deem that soothing lay thy mother's voice to be,
That thus its tones had power to wake so sweet a joy in thee?
Or seemed it to thine infant ear a gracious prelude given,
To teach thy sinless soul on earth, the strains which swell in heaven?
That thus its tones had power to wake so sweet a joy in thee?
Or seemed it to thine infant ear a gracious prelude given,
To teach thy sinless soul on earth, the strains which swell in heaven?
She, whom the earliest day-beam finds a lingerer o'er thy rest,—
She who so oft, at day's soft close, thy gentle sleep hath blest;—
Hers is the ceaseless flow of love, so tender and so deep,
That as a gem in memory's crown, thine after years should keep.
She who so oft, at day's soft close, thy gentle sleep hath blest;—
Hers is the ceaseless flow of love, so tender and so deep,
That as a gem in memory's crown, thine after years should keep.
A mother's love! when ever failed that fount of tenderness?
Or when refused a mother's heart to love, to soothe, to bless?
Time cannot break the golden chain which links that heart to thee:
It asks to swell its yearning depths one boon,—Eternity.
Or when refused a mother's heart to love, to soothe, to bless?
Time cannot break the golden chain which links that heart to thee:
It asks to swell its yearning depths one boon,—Eternity.
Thou blessed one! thy favored race a transcript meet, was given
To image forth the purity of those whose home is heaven.
In youth or age, O! may thy feet the holy pathway tread,
Which leads thee to his arms, whose lips the gracious blessing shed.
To image forth the purity of those whose home is heaven.
In youth or age, O! may thy feet the holy pathway tread,
Which leads thee to his arms, whose lips the gracious blessing shed.