Title Page
 Table of Contents

Title: Pretty poems for my children
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002795/00001
 Material Information
Title: Pretty poems for my children
Series Title: Pretty poems for my children
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Publisher: T. Nelson and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1853
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002795
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA3086
ltuf - ALH6765
oclc - 45964453
alephbibnum - 002236294

Table of Contents
        Frontispiece 1
        Frontispiece 2
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
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        Page 11
        Page 12
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Full Text



L (-~ IVI~U~IIR-jl
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hg~emg *m. WiY ..uI pus.
Ha sAhf uhw buu "Aam%;




(muge I. %retrs.


aLI -



Iprttt pors$,
l3 sue "Dw a "msaom w wacn
a s'cn.rm.r n nam.
tar ea(, . sun.

R-.....-...mmll El'


To Child ..
Ye are Seen ..
Invitation to Robina
TheDead aprow
The Contnted Blind Boy
The Robin's Petton ...
Coming or Eveanig Hymn
The Pet Lmb ... .
A.Walk by the Water ...



CIIArOt Ar rIal

OaUsA Surmr

%-I. --- .1

vlii oouleBm.

The Dog nd the Water-lily ... oowua 17
The Snal ... ... cluAmxw'rL rr 40
The First brief ... ... m las 4
Aunt maris's allows ... ... xn. L ma cmno 4
Invitation to the Bee ... ... crALT surra
'Te Escape of the Doves ... u. ua 4
Dedication fr aClhild's Album ... mra. TaooUmrT

Mother and Child ... ... aMRS w .U
The Do of St Bernard ... ... mr ra 7
The Humble Bee ... .. canarOTs Tu m 7X
To a Oreen-Chaer on a WhIte Rose cuaLOTn smna 8s
Rosy Childhood ... ... Amos. 8a
Tie Joyihl Sprin ... ... AUomer 8U
The Brd set Fe ... ... .o 6.
The Better nd ... ... m HnRn 9
The Star ... ... ...

oomm. Ia

1 6 4
The Poppyl .. ... ... .. .. .. M
re Child' Wish In June ... mUa sA 9u
T e Violet .. ... ... ... ... ..
The Cockto ... ....... .. n s. 101
he Owl ... ... ...... ... .10
eBnlr the Ber ... ... xmr eouo 10
Th Hrurwt IWde ... ... Cam u snmm 1i
Apinot Idalener ... ... ...... 11
A Cade Hymn ... ... ... ... .....11
The little ORl to her Pet Lamb ... a numw uBs u 114
TIe BD md the Flowsr ... mU uann Dum 114
The Shdows ... ... ... umu unmn V ul 11 h
The Lady Btrd ... ... c~aumarntaiu. its
The Dog t his Masters Grave ... ma eoumun U 1
Wht s tht Modter'? ... ... ea. D.oA III
TheMoms's Potito ... ... .u S aunacrLa I

x o o mr rm '

The omn-oww ... M. LUVm DUNCAN MI

Who tecbes lttle B .rd. ...141

My Hlttle Brtadbo ...... Us& DmUCAN 141

- - -I



Waoss imp art thou, with dimpled cheek,
And curly pate, and merry eye,
And arm and shoulders round and sleek,
And soft and fair, thou urchin sly I
And- ---- f



ii- I~


What boots it who, with sweet caremes,
First called thee his, or squire, or hind
For thou in every wight that passes
Doet now a friendly playmate find I

Thy downcast glanes, grave, but cunning,
As fringed eyelids rise and fll,
rhy shyness, swiftly from me running,
Tis infantine coquetry all.

But far afield thou hast not flown,
With mocks and threats, half-lisped, ludf-
I feel thee pulling at my gown,
Of right good-will, thy simple token!

And thou must laugh and wrestle too,
A mimic warfare with me waging,

ron MT CHILDBRa. 13

To make, a wily lovers do,
Thy after-kindness more engaging!

The wilding rose, sweet as thyself,
And new-cropped daisies are thy treasure;
I'd gladly part with worldly pe4
To taste again thy youthful pleasure

But yet for all thy merry look,
Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming,
When thou shalt ait in cheerless nook,
The weary spell, or hornbook thumbing!

Well; let it be! through weal and woo,
Thou knoweat not thy future range;
Life i a motley shifting ahow,
And thou a thing of hope and change:



A simple child
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death I

I met a little cottage girl:
She was eight years old, she mid;
SHer hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.


"Sister and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be "
"How many? seven in all," she maid,
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell" I
She answered, "Seven are we!
And two of us at Oonway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

Two of usin the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

-*You my that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea

-;. *'. '^I

16 PrrTTr roia

Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be 1"

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us In the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tre."

"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are In the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they my be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are ide by side.

Ios uM oRnILRU. 17

My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

And often after sunset, sir,
When it in light and fair,
I take my little pdrringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the gra was dry

18 PmaTTY POaxK

Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and L

And when the ground was white with snow
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are yon then," aid I,
"If they two are in heaven 1"
Quick was the little maid's reply,
"0 Master we are seven."

SBut they are dead; those two are dead I
Their spirits are in heaven I"
Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And aid, "Nay, we are seven!"



Little bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my bmbl shed!
Daly near my table stal,
While I tde my woty mel;

I o Iawn roaxe

Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;
Well rewarded if I spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye,
And see thee when thou'st had thy fill,
Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill.

Come, my feathered friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane;
Ask of me thy daily store,
Ever welcome to my door.


Tell me not of joy there's none,
Now my little sparrow's gone:
He would chirp and play with me;

Pon XrT CHLnUs. 21

He would hang the wing awhile,
Till at length he saw me smile;
Oh! how sullen he would be

ie would catch a crumb, and then,
Sporting let it go again;
lie from my lip
Would moisture sip:
lie would from my trencher feed,
Then would hop, and then would run,
And cry phiUlip when he'd done!
Oh! whuse heart can choose but bleedt

Oh t how eager would he fight,
And ne'er hurt though he did bite!
No morn did pas,
But on my glass

X anarrTv POM1S

He would sit, and mark and do
What I did; now rfBe all
His feathers o'er, now let them fall;
And then straightway sleek them too.

Now my faithful bird is gone;
Oh! let mournful turtles join
With loving redbreasts, and conibine
To sing dirges o'er his stone !


Oh my, what is that thing all'd light,
Which I mut ne'er enjoy I
What are the blessing of the sight t
Oh tell a poor Blind Boy I

------A AF----


You talk of wond'rous things you see
You ay the sun shines bright:
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night I

My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I always keep awake
With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my haplem woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A low I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy;


While thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor Blind Boy.


A suppliant to your window comes,
Who trusts your faith and fears no guile,
He claims admittance for your crumbs,
And reads his passport in your smile.

For cold and cheerless is the day,
And he has sought the hedges round;
No berry hangs upon the spray,
Nor worm nor ant-egg can be found.
- - - - -


Secure his suit will be preferred,
No fears his slender feet deter,
For sacred is the household bird,
That wears the scarlet stomacher."

Lucy the prayer asenting head,
The feathered suppliant flew to her,
And fondly cherished was the bird,
That wears the scarlet stomacher.

Embolden'd then, he'd fearless perch
Her netting or her work among,
For crumbs among her drawings seared
And add his music to her song;

And warbling on her snowy arm,
Or half entangled in her hair,

.~ -~


Seem'd conscious of the double charm
Of freedom and protection there.

A graver moralist, who used
From all some lesson to infer,
Thus said, as on the bird she mus'd,
Pluming his scarlet stomacher-

Where are his gay companions now,
Who sung so merrily in Spring I
Some shivering on the leafles bough,
With ruffled plume, and drooping wing.

Some in the hollow of a cave,
Condgn'd to temporary death;
And some beneath the sluggish wave
Await reviving nature's breath.


I Then let us to the selfsh herd
Of fortune's parasites prefer

i -- I~-I I --

ro Mt CarILDn 17

The migrant tribes are fed away
To skies where insect myriads swarm,
They vanish with the Summer day,
Nor bide the bitter northern storm.

But still is thiL sweet minstrel heard,
While lowers December dark and drear,
The social, cheerful, household bird,
That wears the scarlet stomacher.

And thus in life's propitious hour,
Approving latterer round us sport,
But if the faithlen prospect lower,
They the more happy fly to course.



The friend like this, our Winter bird,
Thit wears the scarlet stonacher."

Great God! how endless is thy love !
Thy gifts are every evening new,
And morning mercies from above
Gently distil like early dew.

Thou spread'st the curtains of the night,
Great guardian of my sleeping hours!
Thy sovereign word restores the light,
And quickens all my drowsy powers


I yield my powers to thy command,
To thee I consecrate my days;
Perpetual blessings from thy hand
Demanau perpetual songs of praise.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it mid, "Drink, pretty creature,
drink !"
And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espia
A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at
its side.

30 PranvM PoxNM

No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grau did the little maiden
While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening

Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty
I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely
And nowwith empty eanthe aide turned aaws.;
But, ere ten yards were goe, her footatel did
she stay.

SWhat ails thee. young one maid she, Why
pull so at thy could

Fros xY cHLDnan. 81

Is it not well with thee, well both for bed and
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as gra can be;
Rest, little young one, rest, what is't that aileth

What is it thou would'st seek What is wanting
to thy heart?
Thy limbe, are they not strong --and beautiful
thou art;
This grass is tender grass; these flowers, they have
no peers;
A d that green corn, all day, is rustling in thy

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy
woollen chain,

33 PnaZTT POrM

The beech is standing by, its covert thou canst
For rain and mountain storms the like thou
need'st not fear-
The rain and storm are things which scarcely can
come here.

Rst, little young one, rest I hast thou forgot the
When my father found thee fist in places fr
away I
Many flock were on the hills, but thou wast
owned by none;
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought
thee home;

ron ktY CHTIrtN.

A blessed day for thee then whither wouldn't
thou rmmnt
A faithful nurse thou huat, the dam that did thee
Upon the mountain toeno kindereould hare been

Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought
thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran:
And twice, too, in the day, when the ground is
wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is,
and new.

It will not, will noret t-poor creature, an it I
That ti thy mother's heart that Is working so in

I~-- -------I----


Things that I know not of, belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou can't neither
ee nor hear.

Alas! the mountain tops, that look so green and
fair I
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come.
The little brooks that seemall pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

Here thou need'st not fear the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou'rt afe-our cottage i hard by.
Why bleat so after me, why pull so at thy chain I
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee

Let us walk where reeds are growing,
By the alder in the mead;
Where the crystl streams re lowing,
In whose wave the fitha fed.


36 PrRTTT roaxl

There the golden earp is leaving,
With the trout, the perch, and bream"
Mark I their flexile fins are waving,
As they glance along the stream.

Now they sink in deeper billow,
Now upon the surface rise;
Or from under roots of willows,
Dart to catch the water-flies.

'Midst the reeds and pebbles hiding,
See the minnow and the roach;
Or by water-lilies gliding,
Shun with fear our near approach.

Do not dread us, timid fishes,
We have neither net nor hook;
Wanderer we, whose only wishes
Are to read in nature's buuk.

'|I i

The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept OMue' silent tide,
Then, 'aeoped from literary cares,
I wandered by it side.
1 ii-_


SMy dog, now lost in flag and reeds,
Now starting into sight,
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ous displayed
Its lilies newly blown,
Their beauties I intent surveyed,
And one I wished my own.

With cane extended far, I sought
To steer it close to land;
But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccesful pains
With fixed, considerate face,

Pro MY CHILDniR. 39

And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

But with a cherop clear and strong,
Dispering all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and followed long
The winding of the stream.

My ramble ended, I returned,
Beau, trotting far before,
The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging left the shora

I saw him with that lily, cropped,
Impatient swim to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropped
The treasure at my feet.

40 PBRTTt roue

Charmed with the sight-" The world," I criedl
S"Shall hear of this thy deed:
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed.

But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all."

To gras, or lea1 or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks fat, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all

foR XT OuILDaN. 41

Within that house secure he hide,
When danger imminent betide.
Of storm, or other ham besides,
Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well e tisded to be his own
Whole treasure.

Thus Iermit-like his life he leads
Alue, ou simple viands feeds,
--- ------ --- -- ------

4S rPBaTT POzxs

Nor at his humble banquet needs

And though without society,
He finds 'ti pleasant to be free,
And that he's blest who need not be


a Oh, call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;
Thle summer comes with flower and bo--
Where is.my brother gone

aaaMSHM--mw -

rosn T =oI1S11. 48

The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;
I car not now to che it I flight-
Oh I call my brother back

The flower run wild-the flower we mowed
Around our garden tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load-
Oh call him back to me."

H e would not hear my voice, fair child !
He may not come to thee;
The foe that once like spring-time smiled
On earth no more thou'lt see

A ee's brief bright life of joy,
Buch unto him was given;





,44 fTT!YT romI
Go, thou must play alone, my boy-
Thy brother is in heaven !"
"And has he left the birds an flowers,
And must I call in vain T
And through the long, long smrmer houa,
Will he not come again .
And by the brook, and in the glado,
Are all our wanderings o'er 1
Oh I while my brother with me played,
Would I had loved him more!"

ion lR T CHILDR .

Twas in the spring-time of the year,
The latter part of May,

46 ra1ITT POZIs

When two small birds, with merry cheer,
Came to our house one day.

I watched them with a loving smile,
As they glanced in and out,
And in their busy, chirping style,
Went peering all about

I knew that they would build a nest;
And joy it was to me,
That the place they liked the best,
Beneath our roof should be.

In the crotch of a sheltering beam,
They found a cosy spot;
And never before or since, I ween,
Choe birds a better lot


ron xv cnor L x. 47

The green boughs of a tall old tree
Gave them a pleasant shade,
While, through an arch, they well could see
Where sun and river played,

And here they came In sunny hours,
And here their nest they made,
Safe, as if hid in greenwood bowers,
For none their will gainsaid.

I think they fet a friendly sphere,
And knew we loved them dearly;
For they seemed to have no thought of fear,
And planned their household cheerly.

They fanned me with their busy wings,
And buzzed about my head;

4 a vTrri rPOea

Never were such familiar things
In field or forest bred.

The father was a gentle bird,
Right gracefully he wooed,
And softer notes were never heard,
Than to his mate he cooed.

And, when their clay-built nest she'line,
He'd go, in sunny weather,
And search and search till he could find
Some little downy feather.

Then high would swell his loving breast,
He felt so very proud,
And he would sidle to the nest,
And call to her aloud.


And she would raise her glossy head,
And make a mighty stir,
To see if it were hair or thread,
That he had brought for her.

And she would take it from his bill,
With such an easy grace,
As courtly beauties sometimes wiill
Accept a veil of lace.

They did not know, the pretty things,
How beautiful they were;
Whether they moved with rapid wings,
Or balanced on the air.

And yet they almost seemed to know
They had a winsmoe grace; D


As if they meant to make a show,
They'd choose their resting-place.

On a suspended hoop they'd swing,
Swayed by the buoyant air,
Or, perched on upright hoe, would sing
Songs of a loving pair.

Swiftly u rays of golden light,
They glanced forth to and fro,
So rapid, that the keenest sight
Could scarcely see them go.

The lover proved a husband kind,
Attentive toAis mate;
He helped her when the nest was lined,
And never staved out late.


And while she hatched, with patient care,
He took his turn to brood,
That she might skim along the air,
To find her needful food.

He did it with an awkward hop,
And the egg seemed like to break,
Just as some clumsy man would mop,
Or thread and needle take.

But there with patient love he sat,
And kept the eggs right warm,
And sharply watched for dog or cat,
Until his mate's return.

And when the young birds broke the sholl,
He took a generous share


In her hourly task to feed them well.
With insects from the air.

But, when they taught the brood to fy,
'Twas curious to see
How hard the parent birds would try,
And twitter coaxingly.

From beam to beam, from floor to nest,
With eager haste they flew;
They could not take a moment's rest,
They bad so much to do.

For a long while they vainly strived,
Both male and female swallow;
In vain they soared, in vain they dived,
The young ones would not follow.

Froa MT oILDIN. 68

The little helpless timid things
Looked up, and looked below,
And thought, before they tried their wings
They'd take more time to grow.

The parents seemed, at last, to tire
Of their incessant labours;
And forth they went, to beg or hire
Assistance from their neighbours.

And soon they came, with rushing noise,
Some eight or ten, or more,
Much like a troop of merry boys,
Before the school-house door.

They flew about, and perched about,
In every sort of style,
- - - - - - - - -


And called aloud, with constant shout,
And watched the nest the while.

The little birds, they seemed half crazed,
So well they liked the fun;
Yet were the simple things aimed
To seehow it was done.

They gazed upon the playful flock,
With eager, beaming eyes,
And tried their winged ways to mock,
And mock their twittering cries.

They stretched themselves, with many a shake;
And oft, before they flew,
Did they their feathery toilet make,
And with a great ado.

roR MT CNILDa3N. 8

Three times the neighbours came that day
To teach their simple rules,
According to the usual way,
In all the Flying Schools.

The perpendicular they taught,
And the graceful parallel;
And sure I am, the younglings ought
To learn their lemons well.

Down from the nest at last they dropped,
As if half dead with fear;
And round among the logs they hopped,
Their parents hovering near.

Then back again they feebly flew,
To rest from their great labours,


And twittered a polite adieu
To all their friendly neighbours.

Next day, they fluttered up and down:
One perched upon my cap;
Another on the old loose gown,
In which I take my nap.

Each day they practised many hours,
Till they mounted up so high,
I thought they would be caught in showers,
And never get home dry.

But when the sun sank in the west,
My favourites would return,
And sit around their little nest,
Like figures on an urn.


And there they dropped away to sleep,
With heads beneath their wings:
I would have given much to keep
The precious little things.

But soon the nest became too small,
They grew so big and stout;
And when it would not hold them all,
They had some llings out.

Three of the five first went away,
To roost on the tall old tree;
But back and forth they came all day,
Their sister-kins to sea

My heart was sad to find one night,
That none came back to me;


I saw them, by the dim twilight,
Flock to the tall old tree.

But still they often met together,
Near that little clay-built nest;
'Twas in the rainiest weather
They seemed to like it best.

Yet often, when the sun was clear.
They'd leave their winged trools,
Again to visit scenes so dear,
And swing upon the hoops.

Just as when human beings roam,
The busy absent brother
Loves to revisit his old home,
Where lived his darling mother.

roB NY CRHLDRn1 59

Months passed away, and still they came,
When stars began to rise,
And flew around our window pane,
To catch the sleepy flies.

Into our supper-room they flew,
And circled round my head:
For well the pretty creatures knew
They had no cause for dread.

But winter comes, and they are gone
After the Southern sun;
And left their human friends alone,
To wish that spring would come.

I -- -M


Child of patient industry,
Little active busy bee,
Thou art out at early morn,
Just as the opening flowers are born;
Among the green and grassy meads
Where the cowslips hang their heads;
Or by hedge-rows, where the dew
Glitters on the harebell blue.-

Then on eager wing art flown
To thymy hillocks on the down;
Or to revel on the broom;
Or suck the clover's crimson bloom;

- - - - - - - - -


Murmuring still thou busy bee
Thy little ode to industry I

Go while summer suns are bright,
Take at large thy wandering flight;
Go and load thy tiny feet
With every rich and various sweet,
Cling around the flowering thorn,
Dive in the woodbine's honied horn,
Seek the wild rose that shades the dell,
Explore the foxglove's freckled bell,
Or in the heath-flower's fairy cup
Drink the fragrant spirit up.

But when the meadows shall be mown,
And summer's garlands overblown;
Then, come, thou little busy bee,
And let thy homestead be with me,

S3 PUTTY roaMx

There, sheltered by thy straw-built hive,
In my garden thou shalt live,
And that garden shall supply
Thy delicious alchemy;
There for thee, in autumn, blows
The Indian pink and latest rose,
The mignionette perfumes the air,
And stocks, unfading flowers, are there.

Yet fear not when the tempests come,
And drive thee to thy waxen home,
That I shall then most treacherously
For thy honey murder thee.

Ah, no !-throughout the winter drear
I'll feed thee, that another year
Thou may'st renew thy industry,
Among the flowers, thou little busy bee.
--------- --------- N "


'Come back, pretty doves, oh! come back from
the tree,
You bright little fugitive things;


We would not have thought you so ready and free
In using your beautiful wings.

We did not suppose, when we lifted the lid,
To see if you knew how to fly,
You'd all butter off in a moment, and bid
The basket for ever good-by.

Come down; and we'll feed you on insects and
You shan't have occasion to roam-
We'll give you all things that a bird ever needs
To make it contented at home.

Then, come, pretty doves! oh, return for our,
And don't keep away from us thus;


Or, when your old lumbering master awakes.
'Twill be a sad moment for us."

We can't !" said the birds, and the basket may
A long time in waiting, for, now,
You find out too late, that a bird in the hand
Is worth, at least, two on the bough.

And we, from our height, looking down on you
By experience taught to be sage,
Find, one pair of wings that are free in the air
Are worth two or three in the cage.

But when our old master has waked, and shall find
The work you have now been about,


We hope, by the freedom we love, he'll be kind,
And spare you for letting us out.

We thank you for all the fine stories you tell,
And all the good things you would give;
But think, since we're out, we shall do very well
Where nature designed us to live.

Whenever you think of the swift Httle wings
On which from your reach we have flown,
No doubt, you'll beware, and not meddle with
In future, that are not your own."



Like this Album's snowy page,
May thy path from youth to age.
From each dark erasure free,
Beautiful and stainless be.-

U __-- -m;zr-~ i



When in Death's approaching shade
Life's last trembling trace must fade,
May the hand that saves the soul
Write "accepted" on its scroll-
And insert it as a gem
In an angel's diadem.


Behold! a little baby boy,
A happy babe is he:
His face, how bright,
His heart, how light,
His throne his mother's knee.



10o MY CHILDaN. 60

Now in her face with laughing eye
I ee him gaily peep;
And now at rest,
Upon her breast,
He gently sinks to sleep.

His lips are red, his teeth like pearls,
The rogue! he has but two;
His golden hair,
How soft and fair,
His eyes, how bright and blue.

His tiny hands are white and plump;
And, waking or asleep,
Beneath his clothes
His little toes
How cunningly they peep I

70 PBRTTY Proan

Oh many things are beautiful;
The bird that sings and flie--
The setting sun,
When day is done-
The rainbow in the skies.

IMy own pet lamb is innocent,
And full of play is he-
The violet
With dew-drops wet,
Is sweet and fair to me.

But there is one more beautiful,
Gay, tender, sweet, and mild,
A baby boy,
With heart of joy,
A loved and loving child.

--- -- -- -- -E



They tell that on St. Bernard's mount,
Where holy monks abide,
Still mindful of misfortune's claim,
Though dead to all beside;

El ~PIE------------

S72 PsITrT PouMs

The weary, way-worn traveller
Oft sinks beneath the snow;
For, where his faltering steps to bend,
No track is left to show.

'Twau here, bewildered and alone,
A stranger roamed at night;
His heart was heavy as his tread,
His scrip alone was light.

Onward he pressed, yet many an hour
He had not tasted food;
And many an hour he had not known
Which way his footsteps trod.

And if the convent's bell had rung
To hail the pilgrim near,
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fro MxT OHILPsN. 73

It still had rung in vain for him-
He was too far to hear.

And should the morning light disclose
Its towers amid the snow,
To him wouldd be a mournful sight-
He had not strength to go.

Valour could arm no mortal man
That night to meet the storm-
No glow of pity could have kept
A human bosom warm.

But obedience to a master's will
Had taught the Dog to roam,
And through the terrors of the waate,
To fetch the wanderer home.


And if it be too much to say
That pity gave him speed,
'Tis sure he not unwillingly
Performed the generous deed.

For now ne listens-and anon
He soents the distant breeze,
And casts a keen and anxious look
On every speck he sees.

And now deceived, he darts along,
As if he trod the air-
Then disappointed, droops his head
With more than human care.

He never loiters by the way,
Nor lays him down to rest,


Nor seeks a refuge from the shower
That pelts his generous breast.

And surely 'tis not less than joy
That makes it throb so fast,
When he sees, extended on the snow,
The wanderer found at last.

Tis surely he-he saw him move,
And at the joyful sight
He tossed his head with a prouder air,
His fierce eye grew more bright;

Eager emotion swelled his breast
To tell his generous tale-
And he raised his voice to its loudest tone
To bid the wanderer hail.



The pilgrim heard-he raised his head,
And beheld the shaggy form-
With sudden fear, he seized the gun
That reted on his arm.

"Ha! art thou come to rend alive
What dead thou might'st devour I
And does thy svage fury grudge
My one remaining hour 1"

Fear gave him back his wasted strength,
He took his aim too well-
The bullet bore the message home-
The injured mastiff fell.

His eye was dimmed, his voice was still,
And he toeed his head no more-

Fon x CBaHIDBr 77

But his heart, though it ceased to throbwith joy
Was generous as before!

For round his willing neck he bore
A store of needful food,
That might support the traveller's strength
On the yet remaining road.

Enough of parting life remained
His errand to fulfil-
One painful, dying effort more
Might save the murderer still.

So he heeded not his aching wound,
But crawled to the traveller's side,
Marked with a look the way he came,
Then shuddered, groaned, and died!


Good morrow, gentle, humble bee,
You are abroad betimes, I see,
And sportive fly from tree to tree,
To take the air;

And visit each gay flower that blows,
While every bell and bud that glows,
Quite from the daisy to the rose,
Your visits share.

Saluting now the pied carnation,
Now on the aster taking station,
Murmuring your ardent admiration;
Then off you frisk,



Where poppies hang their heavy heads,
Or where the gorgeous sun-flower spreads
For you her luscious golden beds,
On her broad disk.

To live on pleasure's painted wing,
To feed on all the sweets of Spring,
Must be a mighty pleasant thing,
If it would last.

But you, no doubt, have wisely thought,
These joys may be too dearly bought,
And will not unprepared be caught
When Summer's past.

For soon will fly the laughing hours
And this delightful waste of flowers


Will shrink before the wintry showers
And winds so keen.

Alas! who then will lend you aid,
If your dry cell be yet unmade,
Nor store of wax and honey laid
In magazine I

Then, Lady Buzz, you will repent,
That hours for useful labour meant
Were so unprofitably spent,
And idly lost.

By cold and hunger keen oppress'd,
Say, will your yellow velvet vest,
Or the fair tippet on your breast,
Slicld you from frost

POW WNY CWTiiml. 81

Ah! haste your winter stock to save,
That snug within your Christmas cave,
When snows fall fast and tempests rave,
You may remain.

And the hard season braving there,
On Spring's warm gales you will repair,
Elate through crystal fields of air,
To bliss again.


You dwell within a lonely bower,
Little chafer, gold and green,
Nestling in the fairest flower,
The rose of snow, the garden's queen.


There you drink the crystal dew,
And your shards as emeralds bright,
And corslets, of the ruby's hue,
Hide among the petals white.

Your fringed feet may rest them there,
And there your filmy wings may close,
But do not wound the flower so fair
That shelters you in sweet repose.

Insect! be not like him who dares
On pity's bosom to intrude,
And then that gentle bosom tears
With baseness and ingratitude.



( G


Joyous dawn of rosy childhood I
Thou art beautiful to we,


The green earth, with its wild-wood,
Hath no flower so sweet as thee;
The stars-night's reign enhancing-
Beam not, within the sky,
With a ray so brightly glancing,
As the flash from childhood's eye !

Rosy childhood Bud of beauty!
Thou'rt a blessing, and art blessed,
Holy ties of love and duty
Fill thy happy mother's breast;
And thy father, though he chideth
Thy loud, but harmless glee,
In his heart no pang abideth
Like the thought of losing thee.


fOB x1Y OHILDEa. 8


The joyous spring has come again,
It glads my heart to see
The springing of the tender grau,
The blooms of the tree.


Oh, I do love the breath of spring,
It is so soft and clear,
It seems to have its dwelling-place
In some far purer sphere.

Again the melody of birds
Is wafted o'er the vales,
And through the wilderness of green
The balmy zephyr sails.

The primrose, eldest child of spring,
Its showy head uprears,
And yellow cowslips lave their brows
In morning's dewy tears.

mow forth the busy farmer goes,
And roots out all the weeds,

Fro Xx CaILDBIS. 87

And carefully prepares the earth
To sow the various seeds.

I too must well improve my minJ,
And cultivate the soil,
And then the harvest will reward
My spring and summer's toil.

If it neglected lies in youth,
Twill prove a barren field
And in the autumn hour of life
No golden harvest yield.




She opened the cage, and away there few
A bright little bird, as a sweet adieu
It warbled in haste, and passed the door,
And felt that its sorrowful hours were o'er.

A hymn of freedom it seemed to sing,
To utter its thanks for an outspread wing,
In joy that now in the boundless air,
It might go any and everywhere.

And Anna rejoiced in her bird's delight;
But her eye was wet as she watched its flight;
'Till this was its song that she seemed to hear;
Aud merrily warbled, it dried the tear.


"My prison was sad, but my keeper kind
In all, but holding a bird confined:
She ministered food and drink to me,
But Oh, I was longing to join the free

I sat shut up with a useless wing,
And looked with sorrow on every thing;
I lost my voice and forgot my song,
And pined in silence the whole day long.

My fluttering bosom she loved to smooth;
While the heart within it she could not soothe
'Twas homesick still for the sweet green tree
My feathery kindred and wild-wood breeze.

I then broke forth with a plaintive air,
And asked why I was a captive there 1


She tried to tell, but she did not know,
And the door threw open to let me go.
But I will go beck with a mellower pipe,
To her when the cherries are round and ripe,
And ing secure from my leafy sat,
On the topmost branch as I look my feet.

My merriest notes shall then be heard,
And draw her eye to her franchised bird;
The burden then of my song shall be,
Airfor the winged, and earth for thee / "


WW w


I hear thee speak of the better land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band;

m -- -u


2 PBaRTIT Pozla

Mother I oh where is that radiant shore-
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more 1
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
Andthe fire-flies dance through themyrtle boughs t
"Not there, not there, my child!"

is It where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things
"Not there, not there, my child!"

Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,


And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land I
"Not there, not there, my child I"

Eye hath not sen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom
For beyond the cloud, and beyond the tomb,
"It is there, it is there, my child I"

------- -



Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When lie nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light:
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

When the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not tell which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

roR xm c t IDni. O

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep;
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.


High on a bright and sunny bed
A scarlet poppy grew,
And up it held its staring head.
And thrust it full in view.

Yet no attention did it wmn
By all these efforts made,

Spn: TTyr PoEWs

And less unwelcome had it been
In some retired shade.

Although within its scarlet breast.
No sweet perfume was found,
It seemed to think itself the best
Of all the powers around.

From this may I a hint obtain,
And take great care indeed,
Lest I appear as pert and vain
As does this gaudy weed.

*-------- ----

105 IN OBILD58N. 97

Mother, mother, the wind are at ply,
Prithee let me be idle to-day.


Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie
Languidly under the bright blue sky
See how slowly the streamlet glides;
Look how the violet roguishly hides;
Even the butterfly rests on the rose,
And scarcely sips the sweet as he goes.
Poor Tray is asleep in the noon-day sun,
And the flies go about him one by one;
And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace,
Without ever thinking of washing her face.
There flies a bird to a neighboring tree,
SBut very lazily flieth he,
SAnd he site and twitters a gentle note,
That scarcely ruffles his little throat.
You bid me be busy; but, mother, hear,
How the hum-drum grasshopper soundeth near,
And the soft wind is so light in its play,
-- - ---- - - -

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