To a Child. DEAR Child! whom sleep can hardly tame, With bright round cheek, amid whose glow And brow so calm, a home for Thought That shout proclaims the undoubting mind; In spite of all foreboding fear, And yet, dear child! within thee lives Thus what thou art foreshows to me How greater far thou soon shalt be; And while amid thy garlands blow JOHN STERLING. The Mother's Hope. Is there, when the winds are singing Forest chirp, and village chime, Is there, of the sounds that float Half so sweet, and clear, and wild, Listen! and be now delighted: Morn hath touched her golden strings; Earth and Sky their vows have plighted; Life and Light are reunited, Amid countless carollings; There's a sound that's sweeter far- 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 songs 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, ere long, the ear forgets; But in mine there is a sound Ringing on the whole year roundHeart-deep laughter that I heard Ere my child could speak a word. The Mother's Heart. WHEN first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond, All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure; Faithful and true, with sense beyond thy years, Yet patient to rebuke when justly given — Obedient-easy to be reconciled And meekly cheerful; such wert thou, my child! Not willing to be left still by my side, Nor leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide 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; Then THOU, my merry love-bold in thy glee, Under the bough, or by the firelight dancing, With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing glancing, Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth! Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of joy, Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip resoundeth; Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy, And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth; And many a mirthful jest and mock reply And thine was many an art to win and bless, The earnest tearful prayer all wrath disarming! At length THOU camest-thou, the last and least, Nick-named "the Emperor" by thy laughing brothers Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast, And thou didst seek to rule and sway the others Mingling with every playful infant wile And oh! most like a regal child wert thou! Different from both! yet each succeeding claim I, that all other love had been forswearing, Forthwith admitted, equal and the same; Nor injured either by this love's comparing, Nor stole a fraction for the newer callBut in the mother's heart found room for all! CAROLINE NORTON. Mother's Love. He sang so wildly, did the boy, That you could never tell If 'twas a madman's voice you heard, Or if the spirit of a bird Within his heart did dwell A bird that dallies with his voice Among the matted branches; Or on the free blue air his note, To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float, But when again we stood below Grew slacker, and his note more slow, And there he stayed, and bad me stay, I could have stayed of my own will, With the sweet sight which I saw there, A little in the doorway sitting, Yet her thoughts were with her child. But when the boy had heard her voice, Oh what a loveliness her eyes THE PET LAMB. 125 "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord? "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now; Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the board? plough. "Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought Again and once again, did I repeat the song; thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, I bring thee draughts of milk warm milk it is, That I almost received her heart into my own." and new. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. The Shepherd Boy. LIKE some vision olden Of far other time, In the young world's prime, Is thy soft pipe ringing, O lonely shepherd boy: What song art thou singing, Or art thou complaining And thine own disdaining, Dost ask what thou hast not? For the present scheming- In thy summer home; All wild creatures love him Sings its softest tone. Much to thee is given, Lowly shepherd boy. LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON. To my Daughter. DEAR Fanny! nine long years ago, The landscape smiled; Whilst lowed the newly-wakened herds- WHEN the corn-fields and meadows Oh the Nymphs and the Graces A winding and weaving A striving and soaring, A gladness and grace, Make him kneel half-adoring The God in the place. Then amid the live shadows Of lambs at their play, Where the kine scent the meadows With breath like the May, |