There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, And Maud with her mantle of silver-green, And Kate with her scarlet feather. Under my window, under my window, Merry and clear, the voice I hear, Of each glad-hearted rover. Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses; Under my window, under my window, And Maud with her mantle of silver-green, Under my window, under my window, THOMAS WESTWOOD. CHILDHOOD. IN my poor mind it is most sweet to muse Down which the child would roll; to pluck gay flowers, Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand CHARLES LAMB. THE MOTHER'S SACRIFICE. THE cold winds swept the mountain's height, A mother wandered with her child: And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifting snow : Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone. "O God!" she cried in accents wild, She stripped her mantle from her breast, And smiled to think her babe was warm. At dawn a traveller passed by, And saw her 'neath a snowy veil ; The frost of death was in her eye, Her cheek was cold and hard and pale. He moved the robe from off the child, The babe looked up and sweetly smiled! The lambs play always, they know no better; And, in the churchyard cottage, I They are only one times one. O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low. Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, You were bright—ah, bright—but your light Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell, is failing; You are nothing now but a bow. You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face? I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet Bee! you 're a dusty fellow, — You've powdered your legs with gold. O Columbine! open your folded wrapper, And show me your nest, with the young ones in it, I will not steal them away; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet! I am seven times one to-day. WE ARE SEVEN. JEAN INGELOW. A SIMPLE child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? Sweet maid, how this may be." Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid ; "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied: "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And sing a song to them. "And often after sunset, sir, "The first that died was Sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain ; And then she went away. TO A CHILD DURING SICKNESS. And balmy rest about thee I sit me down, and think Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, Thy sidelong pillowed meekness; The little trembling hand Sorrows I've had, severe ones, But when thy fingers press Ah, first-born of thy mother, My light, where'er I go; LITTLE BELL. Little Bell sat down amid the fern: "Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return; Bring me nuts," quoth she. Up, away! the frisky Squirrel hies, — Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes, And adown the tree Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap drop one by one. Hark, how Blackbird pipes to see the fun! "Happy Bell!" pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade: "Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade, Bonny Blackbird, if you 're not afraid, Come and share with me!" Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare, And the while those frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine out in happy overflow From her brown, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot, at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray; Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, "What good child is this," the angel said, "That with happy heart beside her bed Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, O, very low and soft, "Bell, dear, Bell!" crooned he. "Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee!" I once had a little brother, With eyes that were dark and deep; In the lap of that old dim forest He lieth in peace asleep : Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow, We roved there the beautiful summers, The summers of long ago; But his feet on the hills grew weary, And, one of the autumn eves, I made for my little brother My neck in a meek embrace, Silently covered his face; And when the arrows of sunset Lodged in the tree-tops bright, He fell, in his saint-like beauty, Asleep by the gates of light. Therefore, of all the pictures That hang on Memory's wall, The one of the dim old forest Seemeth the best of all. ALICE CARY. |