The Sun.
London, England, 1821-08-07 00:00:00

OF

TO A DYING INFANT;
Sleep, little baby! sleep !
Not in thy cradle bed,
Not on thy mother's breast
Henceforth shall be thy rest,
But quiet with the. dead.
Yes—with the quiet dead;
Baby, thy rest shall be.
Oh ! many a weary Wight,
Weary of life and light,
Would fain lie down with thee:
Flee little tender nursling !
Flee to thy grassy nest !
There the first flowers shall blow,
The first pure flake of snow
Shall fall upon thy breast. .
Peace ! Peace ! the little bosom
Labours with short'ning breath—
Peace ! Peace ! that tremulous sigh
Speaks his departure nigh—
Those arc tne damps of death. •
I've seen thee in thy beauty,
_LIA thing all health and glee;
But never the wert thou
So beautiful, as now,
Baby ! thou seeest to me.
Thine up-turn'd eyes glaz'd over,
Like harebells wet with dew ;
Already veil'd and hid
By the convulsed lid,
Their pupils darkly blue.
Thy little mouth half open—
The soft lip quivering,
As if (like summer air
Ruffling the rose leaves) there
Thy soul was fluttering.
Mount up, immortal essence !
Young spirit ! haste, depart—,
And is this death ?—Dread Thing !
If such thy visiting,
How beautiful thou art !
•
Oh ! I could gaze for ever
Upon that waxen face :
So passionless ! so pure !
The little shrine was sure
An angel's dwelling-place.
Thou weepest, childless Mother !
Aye, weep.—'Twill ease thine inut—
ile was thy first born Son, .
Thy first, thine only one,
'Tis-hard from him to part !
'Tis hard to lay thy darling
Deep in the damp cold earth—.
His empty crib to see,
His silent nursery,
Once gladsome with his mirth,
To meet again in slumber,
His small mouth's rosy kiss ;
Then, waken'd with a start
By thine own throbbing heart,
His twining arms to miss !
To feel (half conscious why)
A dull, heart sinking weight,
Till Memory on thy soul
Flashes the painful whole,
That thou art desolate !
And then to lie and weep,
And think the live-long night
(Feeding thine own distress
With accurate greediness)
Of every past delight ;
Of all his winning ways,
His pretty, playful smiles,
His joy at sight of Thee,
His tricks, his mimickry,
And all his little wiles !
Oh.! these are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling—
That mingle with the tears
And smiles of after years,
With oft awakening.
But thou wilt then, fond mother !
In after years, look back,
(Time brings such wondrous easing)
With sadness not unpleasing,
Even on this gloomy tract.
Thou'lt say " my first born blessing !
It almost broke my heart
When thou •overt forc'd to go,
And yet, for thee, I know,
'Twas better to depart.
" God took thee in his mercy
A lamb, untask'd, untried ;
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the:victory,
And thou art sanctified !
" Ilook around and see

The evil ways of men ;
And oh ! beloved child !
I'm more than reconciled

To thy departure then.
" The little arms that clasp'd me,
Th' innocent lips that prest,—
Would they have been as pure
Till now, as when of yore,
I lull'd thee on my breast ?
" Now (like a dew drop-shrined
Within a crystal stone)
Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove !
Safe with. the Source of Love,
The Everlasting One.
" And "when the hour arrives
From flesh that sets me free,
Thy spirit may await
The first at heaven's gate.
To meet and welcome me." C.

THE Peascrss AUGUSTA.—ThiS amiable Prin-
CPAS, who has always been zealous to encourage
and to patronise merit, lately condescended to
sit for her portrPit to Miss CROPLEY, a lady who
deservedly holds a very high rank as an artist,
and who, as a copyist of the old Masters, is, per-
haps, without a rival. The likeness of our, amia-
ble Princess is exact, and the work, which is
admirable in point of art, expresses very suc-
cessfully the benevolent mind of the estimable
original.
ENGLIsn OPERA Housr.--,—The new musical
piece entitled The Witch of Derncicugh, re-
modelled from the p3pular Romance of Guy
Mannering, and of which we gave a favourable
report on its first representation, increases in
attraction, and has no enemy at present but the
beauty of the weather. It was followed last
night by the excellent farce of No Song no Supper,
written by an author whose dramatic muse bas
been so successful that the public may well re-
gret that she does not indulge them with more of
her productions, all of which are marked by
classical taste as well as genuine humour. This
diverting piece last night introduced Mrs.BALLs,
from the York Theatre;for the first time on Lon-
don boards, in the part of Margaretta. A Lon-
don audience forms a terrific tribunal to all pro-
vincial performers, however successful, and it most
probably operated so much upon the new actress
as to prevent her exerting her musical powers
to full advantage, but as an actress she sustained
the character with propriety and effect. She
possesses what is styled a good stage figure, and
altogether seems worthy of being imported by a
London Manager. The farce was well supported
in general by llAnuir, BARTLEY, PEARMAN,
BROADHURST, Miss I. STEVENSON, and Miss
HOLDAWAY.

Earl TALBOT and a small party visited the
Dublin theatre on Wednesday last to see The
Duenna. Miss STEPHENS played Clara. This
Lady's engagement closed on Friday.