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POEMS OF CHILDHOOD.
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 I made a rural pen;
And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness;
Baby May. CHEEKS as soft as July peaches ; Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness; round large eyes Ever great with new surprise ;
Wealth for which we know no measure;
WILLIAM Cox BENNETT.
Jane's a prettier name beside;
Wind of the western sea,
Wind of the western sea!
Blow him again to me; .
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest;
Father will come to thee soon.
Father will come to thee soon.
Under the silver moon;
Choosing a Name.
The Christening. ARRAYED - a half-angelic sight In vests of pure baptismal white, The mother to the font doth bring The little helpless, nameless thing With hushes soft and mild caressing, At once to get - a name and blessing. Close by the babe the priest doth stand, The cleansing water at his hand Which must assoil the soul within From every stain of Adam's sin. The infant eyes the mystic scenes, Nor knows what all this wonder means; And now he smiles, as if to say, “I am a Christian made this day;" Now frighted clings to nurse's hold, Shrinking from the water cold, Whose virtues, rightly understood, Are, as Bethesda’s waters, good. Strange words, “ The world, the flesh, the devil,” Poor babe, what can it know of evil ? But we must silently adore Mysterious truths, and not explore. Enough for him, in after-times, When he shall read these artless rhymes, If, looking back upon this day With quiet conscience, ine can say,
I HAVE got a new-born sister ;
Now I wonder what would please her -
“I have in part redeemed the pledge Of my baptismal privilege; And more and more will strive to flee All which my sponsors kind did then renounce for me.”
I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An' as 1 straik each croon,
“O bairnies, cuddle doon."
Wi' mirth that's dear to me;
Will quaten doon their glee.
May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, “O bairnies, cuddle doon."
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town,
Wi' muckle faucht an' din;
Your father's comin' in.
I try to gie a froon,
“O bairnies, cuddle doon." Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid
He aye sleeps next the wa' -
The rascal starts them a'.
They stop awee the soun’;
“Noo, weanies, cuddle doon.”
Cries oot frae 'neath the claes,
He's kittlin wi' his taes."
He'd bother half the toon:
“O bairnies, cuddle doon." At length they hear their father's fit,
An', as he steeks the door, They turn their faces to the wa',
While Tam pretends to snore. “ Hae a' the weans been gude ?” he asks,
As he pits off his shoon; “The bairnies, John, are in their beds,
An' lang since cuddled doon."
Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben ?
cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep.
Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue !- glow'rin' like the
moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun'about, crawin' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna - what - wauknin' sleepin'
Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel ! Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, *Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her
thrums: Hey, Willie Winkie!— See, there he comes!
An' just afore we bed oorsel',
We look at oor wee lambs ; Tam has his airms roun' wee Rab's neck,
An' Rab his airms roun' Tam's.
Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean,
ee; But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
But I know that she knew it now, and I just beThe Wead Woll.
lieve, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her You need n't be trying to comfort me- I tell you
head broke too. my dolly is dead !
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head There's no use in saying she is n't, with a crack like had been hit! that in her head.
For I've hit it over and over, and it has n't cracked It's just like you said it would n't hurt much to a bit.
have my tooth out, that day; And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be you had n't a word to say.
buried, of course :
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when and I'll walk behind and cry, and we'll put her in
be the horse; you say you can mend it with glue: As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just This dear little box — and we'll bury her there out
this, you see suppose it was you !
under the maple-tree. You might make her look all mended - but what do I care for looks 1
And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys and the he made for my bird ; backs of books !
And he'll put what I tell him on it-yes, every
single word! My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's
I shall say: “ Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll,
who is dead; the awfullest crack ! It just makes me sick to think of the sound when She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in
her head.” her poor head went whack
MARGARET VANDEGRIFT. Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the
little shelf. Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me I
The Angel's Whisper. know that I did it myself !
A superstition prevails in Ireland that, when a child
smiles in its sleep, it is “talking with angels.” I think you must be crazy, you'll get her an
A BABY was sleeping; other head ! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ;
Its mother was weeping; my dolly is dead! And to think I had n't quite finished her elegant
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling; new spring hat! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie And she cried, “ Dermot, darling, oh come back to
me!" on that horrid cat!
Her beads while she numbered, When my mamma gave me that ribbon — I was and smiled in her face as she bended her knee:
The baby still slumbered, playing out in the yard
“Oh, blest be that warning, She said to me, most expressly, “ Here's a ribbon
My child, thy sleep adorning, for Hildegarde."
For I know that the angels are whispering with And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde
thee. saw me do it; But I said to myself, “Oh, never mind, I don't be “And whildy are keeping lieve she knew it!"
Bright watch o'er thy sicejing