PLAYING NEAR A PRECIPICE.

ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT O, 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 calm 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 fond boy springs back to nestle there.

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to
LEONIDAS of Alexandria (Greek). Translation

And closely caressing

Her child with a blessing,
Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering

with thee."
LULLABY.

see ;

of SAMUEL ROGERS.

SAMUEL L.OVER.

FROM "THE PRINCESS."

Sweet and low, sweet and low,

MOTHER AND CHILD.
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,

THE wind blew wide the casement, and within
Wind of the western sea !

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, Father will come to thee soon;

With beauty shroud the brooklet. The red lips Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Were parted, and the cheek upon the breast Father will come to thee soon ;

Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the flower, Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Wore the same color, rich and warm and fresh :

And such alone are beautiful. Its eye,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon :

A full blue gem, most exquisitely set,
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. As if it knew even then that such a wreath

Looked archly on its world, — the little imp,
Were not for all; and with its playful hands
It drew aside the robe that hid its realm,

And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it laid
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

Its head upon the shrine of such pure joys, In Ireland they have a pretty fancy, that, when a child smiles in of the sweet mother fell upon its cheek, —

And, laughing, slept. And while it slept, the tears its sleep, it is "talking with angels.“

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 sang unconsciously And the tempest was swelling

The silliest ballad-song that ever yet Round the fisherman's dwelling; Subulued 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 numbered

The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee :

"O, blessèd be that warning,

My child, thy sleep adorning, -
For I know that the angels are whispering with

thee.

A LIGHTER scarf of richer fold

The morning flushed upon our sight,
And Evening trimmed her lamps of gold

From deeper springs of purer light;
And softer drips bedewed the lea,
And whiter blossoms veiled the tree,

“And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,

CAROLINE E. NOK 1OX.

Not willing to be left - still hy my side, And proud the lifting of thy stately hoad, Haunting my walks, while summer-day was And the firm bearing of thy conscious 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

1, that all other love had been forswearing, lying;

Forthwith admitted, equal and the same; Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek,

Nor injured either 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,
No strength in all thy freshness, prone to fade,
And bending weakly to the thunder-shower ;

THE MOTHER'S HOPE.
Still, round the loved, thy heart found force to
bind,

Is there, when the winds are singing And clung, like woodbine shaken 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 music heavenward springing,

Under the bough, or by the firelight 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, Morn 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, And many a mirthful jest and mock reply

One that makes the heart rejoice Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. More than all, – the human voice !

And thine was many an art to win and bless,
The cold and stern to joy and fondness warm-

ing;
The coaxing smile, the frequent soft caress,
The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarm-

ing! Again my heart a new affection found, But thought that love with thee had reached its

bound.

Organ finer, deeper, clearer,

Though it be a stranger's tone, -
Than the winds or waters dearer,
More enchanting to the hearer,

For it answereth to his own.
But, of all its witching words,
Sweeter than the song of birds,
Those are sweetest, bubbling wild
Through the laughter of a child.
Harmonies from time-touched towers,

Haunted strains from rivulets,
Hum of bees among the flowers,
Rustling leaves, and silver showers,

These, erelong, the ear forgets ;
But in mine there is a sound
Ringing on the whole year round,
Heart-deep laughter that I heard
Ere my child could speak a word.

At length Thou camest, thou, the last and

least, Nicknamed “the Emperor" by thy laughing

brothers,
Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast,
And thou didst seek to rule and sway the

others,
Mingling with every playful infant wile
A mimic majesty that made us smile.
And 0, most like a regal child wert thou !

An eye of resolute and successful scheming !
Fair shoulders, curling lips, and dauntless brow,
Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's dream.

ing;

Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer,

Fondlier formed to catch the strain, -
Ear of one whose love is surer,
Hers, the mother, the endurer

Of the deepest share of pain ;