¥OR CHILDREN. 271

Now good night! may sweetest slumbers
And soft silerice fall in numbers
On your eye-lids: so farewell :
Thus I end my evening knell.
Beaumont and Fletcher.

 

SWISS HOME-SICKNESS.

Wuererore so sad and faint, my heart ?
The stranger’s land is fair;

Yet, weary, weary, still thou art—
What find’st thou wanting there ?

What wanting P—All, oh! all I love !
Am TI not lonely here ?

Through a fair land, in sooth, I rove,
But what like home is dear ?

My home! oh! thither would I fly,
Where the free air is sweet,

My father’s voice, my mother’s eye,
My own wild hills to greet ;

My hills, with all their soaring steeps,
With all their glaciers! bright,

Where in his joy the chamois sleeps,
Mocking the hunter's might,

Here no familiar look I trace,
I touch no friendly hand ;

1 Glaciers—fields of ice, such as are met wil
hollows of the Alps, , th in the