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* Who bears upon his baby brow the round
What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt ;
Unfathomed mystery !
Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks,
As if his head were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as any sphinx !
Warped by colic, and wet by tears,
Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears,
Our little nephew will lose two years ;
And he'll never know
Where the summers go ;
He need not laugh, for he 'll find it so.
Who can tell what a baby thinks?
Who can follow the gossamer links
By which the manikin feels his way
Out from the shore of the great unknown,
Blind, and wailing, and alone,
Into the light of day?
Out from the shore of the unknown sean
Tossing in pitiful agony ;
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of little souls,
Barks that were launched on the other side,
What does he think of his mother's eyes ?
What of the cradle-roof, that flies
Forward and backward through the air ?
What does he think of his mother's breast,
Bare and beautiful, smooth and white,
Cup of his life, and couch of his rest?
What does he think when her quick embrace
Presses his hand and buries his face
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell, Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, With a tenderness she can never tell, glorious,
Though she murmur the words
Of all the birds,
Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.
CHOOSING A NAME.
I HAVE got a new-born sister;
Making every limb all motion ;
WILLIAM C. BENNETT
BABY Bye, ,
How he crawls
Yet he never falls !
There he goes
CHEEKS as soft as July reaches ;
Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben ?
hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie
a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa'
He can eat
On his back
Like a pedler's sack.
Put a crumb
Maybe he will come.
But no doubt
Just to gad about.
Fie, O fie,
Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue:- glow'rin' like
the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a
cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what-wauknin' sleepin'
Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean 's in a creel ! Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her
thrums : Hey, Willie Winkie! See, there he comes !
All wet flies
Cats, you know,
God knoweth all ;
Mousy nibbles in the wall; The clock strikes one :- like day, Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
Wakes the nun in convent cell ; The clock strikes two: - they go To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows; The clock strikes three :-- the wagoner In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable-door ; The clock strikes four :-- 't is plain, The coachman sifts his grain.
SLEEK coat, eyes of fire,
That's puss. After ball, reel, or string, 'Wild as any living thing,
That's puss. Climbing tree, and catching bird, Little twitter nevermore heard,
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes; The clock strikes five : -- the traveller must be
gone, He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking ; The clock strikes six : ---awake, arise, Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run ;
The rolls are done; The clock strikes seven :'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar too ;
TRANSLATION OF CHARLES T. BROOKS.
I'm in love with you, Baby Louise ! With your silken hair, and your soft blue eyes, And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies, And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the
skies, God's sunshine, Baby Louise.
(From the " Boy's Horn of Wonders," a German Book of Nursery
The moon it shines,
My darling whines; The clock strikes twelve :- God cheer The sick, both far and near,
When you fold your hands, Baby Louise, Your hands, like a fairy's, so tiny and fair, With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air, Are you trying to think of some angel-taugint
prayer You learned above, Baby Louise ?
I'm in love with you, Baby Louise ! - 0, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! Why ! you never raise your beautiful head !
And say thou wouldst rather Some day, little one, your cheek will grow red
They'd watch o'er thy father! With a flush of delight, to hear the words said, For I know that the angels are whispering to “I love you," Baby Louise.
thee." Do you hear me, Baby Louise ?
The dawn of the morning I have sung your praises for nearly an hour,
Saw Dermot returning, And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; And - you 've gone to sleep, like a weary flower,
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
FROM "THE PRINCESS."
TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY,
SWEET and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Wind of the western sea !
Blow him again to me ;
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to thee soon ;
Under the silver moon :
TIMELY blossom, Infant fair,
Ever busy Time prepares ;
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
In Ireland they have a pretty fancy, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with angels."
A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping ;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling;
TO MY INFANT SON.
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
"O, blest be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
Tuou happy, happy elf !
Thou tiny image of myself !
"And while they are keeping