Innocence need not fear. Go to thy sleep
'Mid Ocean's sunless flowers. The lullaby
Of the mermaiden shall be thy requiem,
And the white coral thou didst love to mix
Among thy penciled shells, shall lightly rear
A canopy above thee. Amber drops
Shall gem thy golden tresses, and thy ear
No more the echoes of the warring main
Appalled shall hear. Thy God shall guard thy rest.
THE PESTILENCE.
I hear it on the blast. There is a sound
Of heavy pinions on the midnight cloud,
A wailing riseth from the strong man's couch:
He with the busiest of the throng did mix
When morning shone, and now ere set of sun,
The gasp and death-cry warn thee where he lies,
—Death treadeth on the heels of buoyant health,
Leaving no interval for shrift or prayer.
The hearse doth meet us wheresoe'er we turn,
And pass unheeded, like a household thing.
The angel of Destruction walks his round,
At noon-day in the city, and the tomb
Doth gather riches till its treasure-vaults
O'erflow. Around their mournful board at eve,
The stricken and diminished circle draw,
Each on the other fixing that sad glance
Which asks, "who next?" While every heart responds,
