Eddying round and round they sink Sylph or faery hither tending, But the Kitten, how she starts, In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half-way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again : Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer; Quick as he in feats of art,. Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in th' eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 'Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other playmate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revelings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space And this vale so blithe a place, Multitudes are swept away Nevermore to breathe the day : Some are sleeping; some in bands Traveled into distant lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighborhood; And, among the kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside. Where is he, that giddy sprite, Blue-cap, with his colors bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out; Hung-head pointing towards the ground Fluttered, perched, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound ; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ; Light of heart and light of limb; Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill, If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighboring rill, Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell Of the silent heart which Nature Will walk through life in such a way I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss ; Even from things by sorrow wrought, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.” LITTLE Four Years, little Two Years, Cheerful looks and words are very Four Years is of Two the double, So that Two Years, when she 's older, Just as Four Years did before, ROSSITER W. RAYMOND. NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. Lay me," lisped the tiny lips Of my daughter, kneeling, bending O'er the folded finger-tips. "Down to sleep,"- "To sleep," she murmured, And the curly head bent low; "I pray the Lord," I gently added, "You can say it all, I know." Pray the Lord, the sound came faintly, Fainter still, "my soul to keep"; Then the tired head fairly nodded, And the child was fast asleep. But the dewy eyes half opened When I clasped her to my breast, |