A New Library of Poetry and Song

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ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT

PLAYING NEAR A PRECIPICE.

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

thee."

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to

see;

And closely caressing

Her child with a blessing,

Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

LULLABY.

FROM "THE PRINCess."

SWEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

SAMUEL LOVER.

MOTHER AND CHILD.

THE wind blew wide the casement, and within

It was the loveliest picture! - a sweet child
Lay in its mother's arms, and drew its life,
In pauses, from the fountain, the white round
Part shaded by loose tresses, soft and dark,

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Concealing, but still showing, the fair realm

Under the silver moon :

Of so much rapture, as green shadowing trees
With beauty shroud the brooklet. The red lips
Were parted, and the cheek upon the breast
Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the flower,
Wore the same color, rich and warm and fresh :-
| And such alone are beautiful. Its eye,

A full blue gem, most exquisitely set,
Looked archly on its world, - the little imp,

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. As if it knew even then that such a wreath

ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

In Ireland they have a pretty fancy, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with angels."

A BABY was sleeping;

Its mother was weeping;

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,
And, laughing, slept. And while it slept, the tears
Of the sweet mother fell upon its cheek,
Tears such as fall from April skies, and bring
The sunlight after. They were tears of joy;
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

Round the fisherman's dwelling;

The silliest ballad-song that ever yet
Subdued the nursery's voices, and brought sleep

And she cried, "Dermot, darling! O come back To fold her sabbath wings above its couch.
to me !"

And bluer waves danced on the sea When baby Zulma came to be!

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.

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WILLIE WINKIE.

WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed? - for it's now ten o'clock."

Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen,
The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie
a 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' folk!

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!

Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean,
A wee stumpie stoussie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep, before he'll close
an ee;

But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength

anew to me.

WILLIAM MILLER.

THE MOTHER'S HEART.

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!

Not willing to be left still by my side,

And proud the lifting of thy stately head,

Haunting my walks, while summer-day was And the firm bearing of thy conscious tread.

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
Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye.

And thine was many an art to win and bless, The cold and stern to joy and fondness warming;

The coaxing smile, the frequent soft caress,

The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarming!

Again my heart a new affection found,

But thought that love with thee had reached its bound.

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 call, But in the mother's heart found room for all! CAROLINE E. NORTON.

THE MOTHER'S HOPE.

Is there, when the winds are singing
In the happy summer time,
When the raptured air is ringing
With Earth's music heavenward springing,
Forest chirp, and village chime,

Is there, of the sounds that float
Unsighingly, a single note
Half so sweet and clear and wild
As the laughter of a child?

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;
Yet, delicious as they are,
There's a sound that 's sweeter far,
One that makes the heart rejoice
More than all, the human voice!

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.

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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