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“Oh smile on me, my little lamb!
I know the earth-nuts fit for food.
We'll find thy father in the wood. Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away! And there, my babe, we'll live for aye.”
The Adopted Child. “Why would'st thou leave me, O gentle child ? Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild A straw-roofed cabin, with lowly wall; Mine is a fair and a pillared hall, Where many an image of marble gleams, And the sunshine of picture for ever streams."
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
He saves for me my precious soul;
The leaves that make the softest bed;
But still be true till I am dead, My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing As merry as the birds in Spring. " Thy father cares not for my breast, 'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; 'Tis all thine own !- and if its hue Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove !
My beauty, little child, is flown,
And what if my poor cheek be brown ?
With me he never would have stayed.
But he, poor man, is wretched made; And every day we two will pray For him that's gone and far away. “ I'll teach my boy the sweetest things: I'll teach him how the owlet sings. My little babe ! thy lips are still, And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. - Where art thou gone, my own dear child 1
What wicked looks are those I see Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me. If thou art mad, my pretty lad, Then I must be for ever sad.
“Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long bright hours of the summer's
day; They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme, And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they
know; Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go."
“Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell;
“Oh! my mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
" Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest;
- Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
Upon the lonesome wild.
And never looks behind;
I Remember, I Remember. I REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,
Came peeping in at morn;
Nor brought too long a day;
Had borne my breath away!
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
Those flowers made of light !
And where my brother set
The tree is living yet!
Where I was used to swing,
To swallows on the wing,
That is so heavy now,
The fever on my brow!
The fir-trees dark and high ;
Were close against the sky.
But now 'tis little joy
The Children's Hour. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the children's hour.
The patter of little feet,
And voices soft and sweet.
Descending the broad hall stair,
And Edith with golden hair, A whisper and then a silence :
Yet I know by their merry eyes
To take me by surprise.
A sudden raid from the hall,
They enter my castle wall. They climb up into my turret,
O'er the arms and back of my chair ;
They seem to be everywhere.
Their arms about me entwine,
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.
Because you have scaled the wall,
Is not a match for you all ?
And will not let you depart,
In the round-tower of my heart.
Yes, forever and a day,
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
And then she went away.
"So in the churchyard she was laid ;
And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
She stopped and culled a leaf
Left fluttering on a rose; She stopped and culled a leaf, Sweet monument of grief,
That in our churchyard grows. She culled it with a smile
'Twas near her sister's mound: She culled it with a smile, And played with it awhile,
Then scattered it around.
Nor turn its gush to tears ;
" And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
And he lies by her side."
.“How many are you, then," said I,
“ If they two are in heaven?” Quick was the little maid's reply:
“O Master, we are seven."
“But they are dead; those two are dead !
Their spirits are in heaven!”-
Annie in the Graveyard. She bounded o'er the graves,
With a buoyant step of mirth ; She bounded o'er the graves, Where the weeping willow waves,
Like a creature not of earth.
Ballad of the Cempest. We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep. 'Tis a fearful thing in Winter
To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder: “Cut away the mast!" So we shuddered there in silence,
For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death. As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy in his prayers, “We are lost!” the captain shouted
As he staggered down the stairs. But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand : " Is n't God upon the ocean
Just the same as on the land I”
And we spoke in better cheer,
JAMES T. FIELDS.
Her hair was blown aside,
And her eyes were glittering bright; Her hair was blown aside, And her little hands spread wide,
With an innocent delight.
She spelt the lettered word
That registers the dead; She spelt the lettered word, And her busy thoughts were stirred
With pleasure as she read.