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Philip, my King.
Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty.”
Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
With love's invisible scepter laden ;
Philip, my King!
Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!
Sittest love-glorified !-Rule kindly,
Philip, my King !
I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King! Ay, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now, That may rise like a giant, and make men bow As to one God-throned amidst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer Let me behold thee in coming years ! Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
A wreath, not of gold, but palm! One day,
Philip, my King!
Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
The Children's Hour.
When the night is beginning to lower,
That is known as the children's hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet;
And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
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 rush from the stairway ;
A sudden raid from the hall; By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle-wall.
They climb up into my turret,
O'er the arms and back of my chair ; If I try to escape they surround me,
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all ?
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart, But put you into the dungeon,
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever
Yes, forever and a day;
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
Angel Charlie. HE
E came—a beauteous vision
Then vanished from my sight; His wing one moment cleaving
The blackness of my night; My glad ear caught its rustle,
Then sweeping by, he stole The dew-drop that his coming
Had cherished in my soul.
Oh, he had been my solace
When grief my spirit swayed, And on his fragile being
Had tender hopes been stayed; Where thought, where feeling lingered,
His form was sure to glide, And in the lone night-watches
'Twas ever by my side.
He came; but as the blossom
Its petals closes up,
Within its sheltering cup,
Back to his frightened breast,
To be the Saviour's guest.
My boy—ah, me! the sweetness,
The anguish of that word !
My slumbering soul is stirred;
When soft lips touch my brow, And whisper gentle greetings,
Oh, tell me, is it thou ?
I know by one sweet token
My Charlie is not dead ; One golden clue he left me
As on his track he sped; Were he some gem or blossom,
But fashioned for to-day, My love would slowly perish
With his dissolving clay.
Oh, by this deathless yearning,
Which is not idly given; By the delicious nearness
My spirit feels to heaven;
By visions of the day,
By promptings when I pray;
I know this life so cherished,
Which sprang beneath my heart,
So beautiful a part;
My unfledged, voiceless dove,
And warbles lays of love.
Oh, I would not recall thee,
My glorious angel-boy! Thou needest not my bosom,
Rare bird of light and joy! Here dash I down the tear-drops
Still gathering in my eyes ; Blest-oh how blest !--in adding A seraph to the skies !
EMILY C. JUDSON.
Song of Pitcairn's Island. COME OME, take our boy, and we will go
Before our cabin door ; The winds shall bring us, as they blow,
The murmurs of the shore;