Sleep sweetly, gentle child! this peaceful rest
    Hath early given thee to a home above,
  Safe from all sin and tears, for, ever blest
    To sing sweet praises of redeeming love.—­
  The love that took thee to that world of bliss
  Ere thou hadst learned the sighs and griefs of this.

JULIET.

Laurel Brook, N.H., September, 1851.

[Footnote A:  These lines are beautiful and full of sweet sympathy.  The home of the mother and brother of Margaret Fuller being now removed from Manchester to Boston, the remains of the little child, too dear to remain distant from us, have been removed to Mount Auburn.  The same marble slab is there with, its inscription, and the lines deserve insertion here.—­ED.]

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER.

BY G.P.R.  JAMES.

  High hopes and bright thine early path bedecked,
    And aspirations beautiful though wild,—­
  A heart too strong, a powerful will unchecked,
    A dream that earth-things could be undefiled.

  But soon, around thee, grew a golden chain,
    That bound the woman to more human things,
  And taught with joy—­and, it may be, with pain—­
    That there are limits e’en to Spirit’s wings.

  Husband and child,—­the loving and beloved,—­
    Won, from the vast of thought, a mortal part,
  The impassioned wife and mother, yielding, proved
    Mind has itself a master—­in the heart.

  In distant lands enhaloed by, old fame
    Thou found’st the only chain thy spirit knew,
  But captive ledst thy captors, from the shame
    Of ancient freedom, to the pride of new.

  And loved hearts clung around thee on the deck,
    Welling with sunny hopes ’neath sunny skies: 
  The wide horizon round thee had no speck,—­
    E’en Doubt herself could see no cloud arise.

  Thy loved ones clung around thee, when the sail
    O’er wide Atlantic billows onward bore
  Thy freight of joys, and the expanding gale
    Pressed the glad bark toward thy native shore.

  The loved ones clung around thee still, when all
    Was darkness, tempest, terror, and dismay,—­
  More closely clung around thee, when the pall
    Of Fate was falling o’er the mortal clay.

  With them to live,—­with them, with them to die,
    Sublime of human love intense and fine!—­
  Was thy last prayer unto the Deity;
    And it was granted thee by Love Divine.

  In the same billow,—­in the same dark grave,—­
    Mother, and child, and husband, find their rest. 
  The dream is ended; and the solemn wave
    Gives back the gifted to her country’s breast.

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF MARQUIS OSSOLI AND HIS WIFE, MARGARET FULLER.