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.

In storied spots of vernal flame

And breezy realms of tossing shade, The tripping elves tumultuous came To join the fairy cavalcade : From blushing chambers of the rose, And bowers the lily's buds enclose, And nooks and dells of deep repose, Where human sandal never goes,

The rabble poured its motley tide:
Some upon airy chariots rode,
By cupids showered from side to side,
And some the dragon-fly bestrode ;
While troops of virgins, left and right,
Like microscopic trails of light,
The sweeping pageant made as bright
As beams a rainbow in its flight!

It passed the bloom of purple plums Was rippled by trumpets rallying long O'er beds of pinks; and dwarfish drums

Struck all the insect world to song: The milkmaid caught the low refrain, The ploughman answered to her strain, And every warbler of the plain The ringing chorus chirped again!

Beneath the sunset's faded arch,

It formed and filed within our porch, With not a ray to guide its march

Except the twilight's silver torch : And thus she came from clouds above, With spirits of the glen and grove, A flower of grace, a cooing dove, A shrine of prayer and star of love!

A queen of hearts! - her mighty chains Are beads of coral round her strung,

And, ribbon-diademed, she reigns,

Commanding in an unknown tongue The kitten spies her cunning ways, The patient cur romps in her plays, And glimpses of her earlier days Are seen in picture-books of fays.

To fondle all things doth she choose,

And when she gets, what some one sends, A trifling gift of tiny shoes,

She kisses both as loving friends ;
For in her eyes this orb of care,
Whose hopes are heaps of frosted hair,
Is but a garland, trim and fair,
Of cherubs twining in the air.

O, from a soul suffused with tears

Of trust thou mayst be spared the thorn Which it has felt in other years,

Across the morn our Lord was born,
I waft thee blessings! At thy side
May his invisible seraphs glide;
And tell thee still, whate'er betide,
For thee, for thine, for all, He died!

AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER.

BABY'S SHOES.

O, THOSE little, those little blue shoes! Those shoes that no little feet use.

O the price were high

That those shoes would buy, Those little blue unused shoes!

For they hold the small shape of feet
That no more their mother's eyes meet,
That, by God's good will,
Years since, grew still,

And ceased from their totter so sweet.

And O, since that baby slept,
So hushed, how the mother has kept,
With a tearful pleasure,

That little dear treasure,
And o'er them thought and wept !

For they mind her forevermore
Of a patter along the floor;

And blue eyes she sees
Look up from her knees

With the look that in life they wore.

As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair
A little sweet face
That's a gleam in the place,
With its little gold curls of hair.

But evermore the halo

Of angel-light increased,

Like the mystery of moonlight

That folds some fairy feast.

Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently

Our darling bud upcurled,

And dropt i' the grave - God's lap our wee

White Rose of all the world.

Our Rose was but in blossom,

Our life was but in spring,
When down the solemn midnight
We heard the spirits sing,
"Another bud of infancy

With holy dews impearled!"
And in their hands they bore our wee

White Rose of all the world.

You scarce could think so small a thing
Could leave a loss so large;
Her little light such shadow fling
From dawn to sunset's marge.

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 gic
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

folk!

wauknin' sleepin'

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 Haunting my walks, dying;

still by my side,

Nor leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide Through the dark room where I was sadly lying;

Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek,
Watch the dim eye, and kiss the fevered cheek.

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; Still, round the loved, thy heart found force to bind,

And clung, like woodbine shaken in the wind!

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
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 1, 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. NOKTON.

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;

Pipe a song about a lamb: " So I piped with merry cheer.

66

'Piper, pipe that song again:" So I piped; he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:"
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN.

Dows the dimpled greensward dancing,
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy, -
Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing,
Love's irregular little levy.

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter,

How they glimmer, how they quiver! Sparkling one another after, Like bright ripples on a river.

Tipsy band of rubious faces,

Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit, Make your mocks and sly grimaces At Love's self, and do not fear it.

GEORGE DARLEY

UNDER MY WINDOW. UNDER my wholv, under my window, All in the Midsummer weather, Three little girls with fluttering curls Flit to and fro together: