Page:Traits and Trials.pdf/118

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"Closed is the dove-cot, quiet there the cooing pigeons rest, The azure waters rock beneath the sleeping swan's white breast; Paul, three times has the careful hen counted her brood anew; They sleep within her sheltering wings, but, Paul, I wait for you.

"The sinking moon looks down from heaven her last farewell to take, And, pale and angry, asks, 'Who is the child I see awake?' Lo! there upon her cloudy bed she is already laid, And sleeps within the circle dark of midnight's dusky shade.

"The little beggar, only he, is wandering in the street, Poor sufferer! at such an hour, with cold and tired feet. He wanders wearily, and hangs his little languid head; How glad, how thankful would he be for a soft warm bed."

Then little Paul, though watching still anxious his shining sword, Folded his clothes and laid him down without another word: And soon his mother bent to kiss his eyelids' deep repose, Tranquil and sweet as angel hands had bade those eyelids close.