Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.
TranslationsFrom the French. The Angel and the Child
By Jean Reboul, the Baker of Nismes
A
Above a cradle bent to look,
Seemed his own image there to trace,
As in the waters of a brook.
It whispered, “come, oh come with me!
Happy together let us go,
The earth unworthy is of thee!
The soul in pleasure suffering lies;
Joy hath an undertone of pain,
And even the happiest hours their sighs.
Never a day serene and pure
From the o’ershadowing tempest’s shock
Hath made the morrow’s dawn secure.
Come to disturb so pure a brow?
And with the bitterness of tears
These eyes of azure troubled grow?
Away shalt thou escape with me;
And Providence will grant thee grace
Of all the days that were to be.
In sombre vestments draped and veiled;
But let them welcome thy last hour,
As thy first moments once they hailed.
There let the grave no shadow cast;
When one is pure as thou art now,
The fairest day is still the last.”
The angel, at these words, had sped
Towards the eternal realms of light!—
Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!