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But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length

One, 'midst the forests of the West By a dark stream is laid

Into wail such as this--and we sit on for- The Indian knows his place of rest

lorn

When the man-child is born.

Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the East,

And one of them shot in the West by the

sea.

Both both my boys! If in keeping the feast

You want a great song for your Italy free,

Let none look at me!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty, side by side,

They fill'd one home with glee ;— Their graves are sever'd, far and wide,

By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night

O'er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sightWhere are those dreamers now?

Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one-
He lies where pearls lie deep;

He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest
Above the noble slain :

He wrapt his colors round his breast
On a blood-red field of Spain.
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd;
She faded midst Italian flowers-
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd

Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall.

And cheer'd with song the hearth!— Alas! for love, if thou wert all,

And naught beyond, O earth!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.

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We thought her lovely when she came,
But she was holy, sainth
Chound her fate angelic know

But-she

The saw

slender ring of flame! Thomas Baily Aldrich,

POETRY

OF

INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD.

BABY MAY.

CHEEKS as soft as July peaches;
Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches
Poppies paleness; round large eyes
Ever great with new surprise;
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness;
Minutes just as brimm'd with sadness;
Happy smiles and wailing cries,
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes,
Lights and shadows, swifter born
Than on windswept autumn corn;
Ever some new tiny notion,
Making every limb all motion,
Catchings up of legs and arms,
Throwings back and small alarms,
Clutching fingers-straightening jerks,
Twining feet whose each toe works,
Kickings up and straining risings,
Mother's ever-new surprisings;
Hands all wants, and looks all wonder
At all things the heavens under;
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings
That have more of love than lovings;
Mischiefs done with such a winning
Archness that we prize such sinning;
Breakings dire of plates and glasses,
Graspings small at all that passes;
Pullings off of all that's able
To be caught from tray or table;
Silences-small meditations

Deep as thoughts of cares for nations--
Breaking into wisest speeches
In a tongue that nothing teaches,
All the thoughts of whose possessing
Must be woo'd to light by guessing;
Slumbers-such sweet angel-seemings
That we'd ever have such dreamings,
Till from sleep we see thee breaking,

And we'd always have thee waking;
Wealth for which we know no measure,
Pleasure high above all pleasure,
Gladness brimming over gladness,
Joy in care-delight in sadness,
Loveliness beyond completeness,
Sweetness distancing all sweetness,
Beauty all that beauty may be,
That's May Bennett; that's my baby.

W. C. BENNETT.

BABY LOUISE.

I'm in love with you, Baby Louise!

With your silken hair and your soft blue

eyes,

And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies, And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the skies;

God's sunshine, Baby Louise!

When you fold your hands, Baby
Louise-

Your hands, like a fairy's, so tiny and fair-
With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air,
Are you trying to think of some angel-
taught prayer

You learned above, Baby Louise?

I'm in love with you, Baby Louise! Why! you never raise your beautiful head! Some day, little one, your cheek will grow red

With a flush of delight to hear the words said,

"I love you," Baby Louise.

Do you hear me, Baby Louise?

I have sung your praises for nearly an hour,

And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower,

And you've gone to sleep like a weary flower,

Ungrateful Baby Louise!

MARGARET EYTINGE.

PHILIP MY KING.

"Who bears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty."

Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my king!

Round whom the enshadowing purple lies
Of babyhood's royal dignities:
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,

With Love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command

Till thou shalt find a queen-handmaiden,

Philip, my king!

Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my king!

When those beautiful lips 'gin suing,
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crown'd, and there
Sittest, love-glorified!-Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair;

For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my king!

BABY BELL.

How came the dainty Baby Bell
HAVE you not heard the poets tell

Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar:
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,

Hung in the glistening depths of

even,

Its bridges, running to and fro,
O'er which the white-wing'd angels go,
Bearing the holy dead to heaven.
She touch'd a bridge of flowers,-those
feet,

So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels,

They fell like dew upon the flowers:
Then all the air grew strangely sweet!
And thus came dainty Baby Bell

Into this world of ours.

She came, and brought delicious May.

The swallows built beneath the eaves;
Like sunlight, in and out the leaves
The robins went the livelong day;
The lily swung its noiseless bell;

And o'er the porch the trembling vine
Seem'd bursting with its veins of wine.
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell!

Up from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, Oh, earth was full of singing-birds

Philip, my king!

The spirit that there lies sleeping now
May rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one heaven-chosen amongst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren taller and
fairer

Let me behold thee in future years!
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my king—

A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my king!

Thou, too, must tread, as we trod, a way
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and
gray;
Rebels within thee and foes without

Will snatch at thy crown. But march
on, glorious,

Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sitt'st at the feet of God vic-
torious,
"Philip, the king!"

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.

And opening spring-tide flowers,
When the dainty Baby Bell

Came to this world of ours!
Oh, Baby, dainty Baby Bell,
How fair she grew from day to day!
What woman-nature fill'd her eyes,
What poetry within them lay!
Those deep and tender twilight eyes,

So full of meaning, pure and bright
As if she yet stood in the light
Of those oped gates of Paradise.
And so we loved her more and more:
Ah, never in our hearts before

Was love so lovely born:
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen-
The land beyond the morn;
And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth,
(The mother's being ceased on earth
When Baby came from Paradise),—

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