PLAYING VEAR A PRECIPICE. ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT 0, pray to them softly, my baby, with me, And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father! While on the cliff with calin delight she kneels, For I know that the angels are whispering to And the blue vales a thousand joys recall, thee.'' See, to the last, last verge her infant steals ! The dawn of the morning O, fly - yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. Saw Dermot returning, Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare, And the wise wept with joy her babe's father to and the fond boy springs back to nestle there. And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, with thee." see: LEONIDAS of Alexandria (Greek). Translation of SAMUEL ROGERS. SAMUEL L.OVER. FROM "THE PRINCESS." Sweet and low, sweet and low, MOTHER AND CHILD. The wind blew wide the casement, and within It was the loveliest picture ! a sweet child Over the rolling waters go, Lay in its mother's arms, and drew its life, Come from the dying moon, and blow, In pauses, from the fountain, the white round Blow him again to me; Part shaded by loose tresses, soft and dark, While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Concealing, but still showing, the fair realm Of so much rapture, as green shadowing trees Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, With beauty shroud the brooklet. The red lips Were parted, and the check upon the breast Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the flower, Wore the same color, rich and warm and fresh :- And such alone are beautiful. Its cyc, A full blue gem, most exquisitely set, Looked archly on its worlıl, – the little imp, And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it laid Its head upon the shrine of such pure joys, And, laughing, slept. And while it slept, the tears In Ireland they have a pretty fancy, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with angels." Of the sweet mother fell upon its check, Tears such as fall from April skies, and bring A BABY was sleeping ; The sunlight after. They were tears of joy ; Its mother was weeping; And the true heart of that young mother then For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ; Grew lighter, and she saug unc nconsciously And the tempest was swelling The silliest ballad-song that ever yet Round the fisherman's dwelling; Subdued the nursery's voices, and brought sleep And she cried, “Derniot, darling! O come back To fold her sabbath wings above its couch. to me!” ALFRED TENNYSON. WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. BABY ZULMA'S CHRISTMAS CAROL. Her beads while she numbereil The baby still slumbered, "O, blessed be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, thee. A LIGHTER scarf of richer fold The morning flushed upon our sight, From deeper springs of purer light; “ And while they are keeping And, ribbon-diademed, she reigns, Commanding in an unknown tongue To fondle all things doth she choose, And when she gets, what some one sends, A trifling gift of tiny shoes, She kisses both as loving friends ; 0, from a soul suffused with tears Of trust thou mayst be spared the thorn Which it has felt in other years, Across the morn our Loril was born, AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER. BABY'S SHOES. O, THOSE little, those little blue shoes ! O the price were high That those shoes would buy, For they hold the small shape of feet That, by God's good will, Years since, grew still, And O, since that baby slept, With a tearful pleasure, That little dear treasure, For they mind her forevermore And blue eyes she sees Look up from her knees As they lie before her there, A little sweet face That's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair. Then () wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part Than those tiny blue shoes That no little feet use, And whose sight makes such fond tears start! WILLIAM Cox BENNETT. In other springs our life may be In bannered bloom unfurled, But never, never match our wee White Rose of all the world. GERALD MASSEY. OUR WEE WHITE ROSE. All in our marriage garden Grew, smiling up to God, A bonnier flower than ever Suckt the green warmth of the sod; 0, beautiful unfathomably Its little life unfurled ; And crown of all things was our wee White Rose of all the world. WILLIE WINKIE. Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, “Are the weans in their bed ? - for it's now ten o'clock.” From out a balmy bosom Our bud of beauty grew; It fed on smiles for sunshine, On tears for daintier dew : Aye nestling warm and tenderly, Our leaves of love were curled So close and close about our wee White Rose of all the world. Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben ? a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep. 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' folk ! With mystical faint fragrance Our house of life she filled; Revealed each hour some fairy tower Where wingèd hopes might build ! We saw — though none like us might see Such precious promise pearled Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. 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 ! But evermore the halo Of angel-light increased, That folds some fairy feast. Our darling bud upcurled, White Rose of all the world. Our Rose was but in blossom, Our life was but in spring, When down the solemn midnight We heard the spirits sing, “Another bud of infancy With holy dews impearled!” And in their hands they bore our wee White Rose of all the world. WHEN first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond, My eldest born, first hope, and dearest treasure, My heart received thee with a joy beyond All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; You scarce could think so small a thing Could leave a loss so large ; From dawn to sunset's marge. Faithful and true, with sense beyond thy years, And natural piety that leaned to heaven ; Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to tears, Yet patient to rebuke when justly given; Obedient, easy to be reconciled, | And meekly cheerful ; such wert thou, my child ! CAROLINE E. Nukrox. Not willing to be left – still by my side, And proud the lifting of thy stately head, Haunting my walks, while summer-day was And the firm bearing of thy couscious tread. dying ; Nor leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide Different from both! yet each succeeding claim Through the dark room where I was sadly I, that all other love had been forswcaring, lying; Forthwith admitted, equal and the same ; Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek, Nor injured cither by this love's comparing, Watch the dim eye, and kiss the fevered cheek. Nor stole a fraction for the newer call, But in the mother's heart found room for all ! O boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made Earth's fragile idols; like a tender flower, THE MOTHER'S HOPE. Is there, when the winds are singing And clung, like woodbine slaken in the wind ! In the happy summer time, When the raptured air is ringing Then thou, my merry love, – bold in thy glee, With Earth's inusic heavenward spriuging, Under the bouglı, or by the tirelight dancing, Forest chirp, and village chime, – With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free, Is there, of the sounds that float Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing glan Unsighingly, a single note cing, Half so sweet and clear and wild Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, As the laughter of a child ? Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth! Listen! and be now delighted : Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of joy, Moru hath touched her golden strings ; Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re Earth and Sky their vows have plighted ; soundeth; Life and Light are reunited Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy, Amid countless carollings; And the glad heart from which all grief re Yet, delicious as they are, boundeth; There's a sound that's sweeter far, One that makes the heart rejoice Than the winds or waters dearer, More enchanting to the hearer, The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarm For it answereth to his own. ing! But, of all its witching words, Again my heart a new alfection found, Sweeter than the song of birds, But thonght thout love with thee had reached its Those are sweetest, bubbling wild bound. Through the laughter of a child. At length Troy camest, thou, the last and Harmonies from time-touched towers, least, Haunted strains from rivulets, Nicknamed “the Emperor" by thy laughing Huni of bees among the lowers, brothers, Rustling leaves, and silver showers, Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast, These, erelong, the ear forgets ; And thou didst seek to rule and sway the But in mine there is a sound others, Ringing on the whole year round, Mingling with every playful infant wile Heart-deep laughter that I heard A mimic majesty that made us smile. Ere my child could speak a word. And O, most like a regal child wert thou ! Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer, du eye of resolute and successful scheming ! Fondlier formed to catch the strain, – Fair shoulders, curling lips, and dauntless brow, Ear of one whose love is surer, Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's dream Hers, the mother, the endurer ing; of the deepest share of pain ; |