And very fitting did it seem ; Behind her cradle bars she smiled As from the trellis smiles the flower, But not so beautiful they rear As turned her sweet eyes to the light, Round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. We used to think how she had come, Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift We never could have thought, O God, That she must wither up, Almost before a day was flown, Like the morning-glory's cup; We never thought to see her droop Till she lay stretched before our eyes, OUR LITTLE QUEEN. COULD you have seen the violets Could you have kissed that golden hair, You would have been her tiring-maid As joyfully as I, Content to dress your little And let the world go by. queen, Could you have seen those violets Drawn all that gold along your hand O, you would tread this weary earth Content to clasp her little grave, And let the world go by. -Overland Monthly. THE CHANGELING. I HAD a little daughter, I know not how others saw her, And the light of the heaven she came from To what can I liken her smiling How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids, Till her outstretched hands smiled also, The very heart of her mother Sending sun through her veins to me! She had been with us scarce a twelvemonth, But they left in her stead a changeling, That seems like her bud in full blossom, And smiles as she never smiled: When I wake in the morning, I see it As weak, yet as trustful also ; All the wonders of faithful Nature Winds wander, and dews drip earthward, Earth whirls, and all but to prosper A poor little violet. This child is not mine as the first was, I cannot sing it to rest, I cannot lift it up fatherly And bless it upon my breast; Yet it lies in my little one's cradle, And sits in my little one's chair, And the light of the heaven she's gone to, - James Russell Lowell. DEATH OF AN INFANT. A HOST of angels flying, Through cloudless skies impelled, A pearl of beauty lying, Worthy to glitter bright In heaven's vast halls of light. They saw, with glances tender, O'er whom life's earliest morn |