« AnteriorContinuar »
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
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
of SAMUEL ROGERS.
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, 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,
A full blue gem, most exquisitely set,
Looked archly on its world, — the little imp,
And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it laid
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.
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.
BABY ZULMA'S CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Her beads while she numbered
The baby still slumbered,
"O, blessèd be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning, -
A LIGHTER scarf of richer fold
The morning flushed upon our sight,
From deeper springs of purer light;
“And while they are keeping
And bluer waves danced on the sea When baby Zulma came to be!
And, ribbon-diademed, she reigns,
Commanding in an unknown tongue. The kitten spies her cunning ways, The patient cur romps in her plays, And glimpses of her earlier days Are seen in picture-books of fays.
The day before, a bird had sung
Strange greetings on the roof and flown ; And Night's immaculate priestess flung
A diamond from her parted zone
When we, at Aries' double bars,
In sto ny Libra's triple stars : What time the hillsides shake with corn And boughs of fruitage laugh unshorn And cheery echoes wake the morn To gales of fragrance harvest-born.
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 Lord was born,
AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER.
In storied spots of vernal flame
And breezy realms of tossing shade, The tripping elves tumultuous came
To join the fairy cavalcade : From blushing chambers of the rose, And bowers the lily's buds enclose, And nooks and dells of deep repose, Where human sandal never goes,
But evermore the halo
Of angel-light increased,
That folds some fairy feast.
Our darling bud upcurled,
White Rose of all the world.
THE MOTHER'S HEART.
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 ; Nor thought that any love again might be So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 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
You scarce could think so small a thing
Could leave a loss so large ;
From dawn to sunset's marge.
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,
THE MOTHER'S HOPE.
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,
ing! Again my heart a new affection found, But thought that love with thee had reached its
Organ finer, deeper, clearer,
Though it be a stranger's tone, -
For it answereth to his own.
Haunted strains from rivulets,
These, erelong, the ear forgets ;
At length Thou camest, thou, the last and
least, Nicknamed “the Emperor" by thy laughing
An eye of resolute and successful scheming !
Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer,
Fondlier formed to catch the strain, -
Of the deepest share of pain ;
We are but children ; the things that we do Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view That sees all our weakness, and pities it too.
God grant that when night overshadows our way, And we shall be called to account for our day, He shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair's play!
PIPING down the valleys wild,
'Piper, pipe that song again :" So I piped ; he wept to hear. “Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, Sing thy songs of happy cheer :” So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. “Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read So he vanished from my sight; And I plucked a hollow reed,
And 0, when aweary, may we be so blest
F. BURGE SMITH.
THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN.
And I made a rural pen,
Down the limpled greensward dancing,
Bursts a faxen-headed bevy,
Love's irregular little levy.
How they glimmer, how they quiver ! Sparkling one another after,
Like bright ripples on a river. Tipsy band of rubious faces,
Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit, Make your mocks and sly grimaces
At Love's self, and do not fear it.
GOLDENHAIR climbed up on grandpapa's knee ;
UNDER MY WINDOW.
Up in the morning as soon as 't was light, Out with the birds and butterflies bright, Skipping about till the coming of night. Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head. “What has my baby been doing," he said, “Since she arose, with the sun, from her bed ?"|
Under my window, under my window,
All in the Midsummer weather, Three little girls with fluttering curls
Flit to and fro together :