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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."

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Sweet and low, sweet and low,

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

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!”




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


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,

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
Upon the crib beside the bed,
Whereunto, as the doctor said,
A king or queen would soon be led
By some sweet Ariel overhead.
Ere yet the sun had crossed the line

When we, at Aries' double bars,
Behold him, tempest-beaten, shine

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 ;
For in her eyes this orb of care,
Whose hopes are heaps of frosted hair,
Is but a garland, trim and fair,
Of cherubs twining in the air.

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,
I waft thee blessings ! At thy side
May his invisible seraphs glide ;
And tell thee still, whate'er betide,
For thee, for thine, for all, He died !


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,


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But evermore the halo

Of angel-light increased,
Like the mystery of moonlight

That folds some fairy feast.
Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently

Our darling bud upcurled,
And dropt i' the grave - God's lap - our wee

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 ; 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

child !

You scarce could think so small a thing

Could leave a loss so large ;
Her little light such shadow fling

From dawn to sunset's marge.


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 ;

Still, round the loved, thy heart found force to

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-

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


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

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

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.


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 ;

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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!

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PIPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me :-
" Pipe a song about a lamb :"
So I piped with merry cheer.

'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
As to sink like the innocent child to our rest,
And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast !



And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

Down the limpled greensward dancing,

Bursts a faxen-headed bevy,
Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing,

Love's irregular little levy.
Rows of liquid eyes in laughter,

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 ;
Dear little Goldenhair! tired was she,
All the day busy as busy could



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 :

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