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Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I?
With my breath,
Good faith,

I blew her to death

First blew her away right out of the sky-
Then blew her in; what strength have I ?"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair; For high

In the sky,

With her one white eye,

Motionless, miles above the air,

She had never heard the great Wind blare. George Macdonald.

THE PET LAMB.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice: it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side.

No other sheep were near; the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone ;

With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,

While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal.

"Rest, little one," she said; "hast thou forgot the day

When my father found thee first, in a place far awdy?

Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,

And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice, too, in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,

I bring thee draughts of milk-warm milk it is, and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they

are now;

Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony in the plow:

My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold,

Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"See, here thou need'st not fear the raven in the

sky;

Both night and day thou'rt safe-our cottage is hard by.

Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep, and at break of day I'll come to thee again." Wordsworth.

AUCTIONING OFF THE BABY.

WHAT am I offered for Baby?
Dainty, dimpled, and sweet
From the curls above his forehead
To the beautifully rosy feet;
From the tips of the wee pink fingers
To the light of the clear brown eye,
What am I offered for Baby?

Who'll buy? who'll buy? who'll buy?

What am I offered for Baby?

"A shopful of sweets?" Ah, no!
That's too much beneath his value
Who is sweetest of all below!
The naughty, beautiful darling!
One kiss from his rosy mouth
Is better than all the dainties

Of East, or West, or South!

What am I offered for Baby?

"A pile of gold ?" Ah, dear, Your gold is too hard and heavy

To purchase my brightness here.
Would the treasures of all the mountains,
Far in the wonderful lands,
Be worth the clinging and clasping
Of these dear little peach-bloom hands?

So, what am I offered for Baby?
"A rope of diamonds?" Nay,
If your brilliants were larger and brighter
Than stars in the Milky Way,

Would they ever be half so precious

As the light of those lustrous eyes, Still full of the heavenly glory

They brought from beyond the skies? Then, what am I offered for Baby?

"A heart full of love and a kiss ?" Well, if anything ever could tempt me, "Twould be such an offer as this! But how can I know if your loving Is tender, and true, and divine Enough to repay what I'm giving

In selling this sweetheart of mine?

So we will not sell the Baby!

Your gold and gems and stuff, Were they ever so rare and precious, Would never be half enough!

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For what would we care, my dearies,
What glory the world put on
If our beautiful darling were-going ;
If our beautiful darling were-gone!

PICTURES OF MEMORY.

AMONG the beautiful pictures
That hang on memory's wall
Is one of a dim old forest

That seemeth best of all.

I once had a little brother,

With eyes that were dark and deep;

In the lap of that dim old forest
He lieth in peace asleep.

Light as the down of the thistle,
Free as the winds that blow,
We roved there the beautiful summers,
The summers of long ago;

But his feet on the hills grew weary,
And one of the autumn eves,
I made for my little brother

A bed of the yellow leaves.
Sweetly his pale arms folded

My neck in a meek embrace, As the light of immortal beauty Silently covered his face;

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