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Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.
CHOOSING A NAME.
I HAVE got a new-born sister ;
Making every limb all motion ;
WILLIAM C. BENNETT.
. BABY BYE.
How he crawls
Yet he never falls !
There he goes
CHEEKS as soft as July peaches ;
Spots of red
That small speck
In the sun
When it rains
On the window-panes.
No such things,
With his buzzing wings.
On his back
Like a pedler's sack.
Put a crumb
Maybe he will come.
But no doubt
Just to gad about.
Fie, O fie,
How will he get dry?
Cats, you know,
Flies have hairs too short to comb,
But the gnat
Flies can see
Spiders are near by.
WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town,
Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben ?
hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie
a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa'
Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue :- glow'rin' like
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a
cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what — 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
Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean,
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.
I'm in love with you, Baby Louise !
0, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! Why ! you never raise your beautiful head !
And say thou wouldst rather Some day, little one, your cheek will grow red They'd watch o'er thy father ! With a flush of delight, to hear the words said, For I know that the angels are whispering to “I love you,” Baby Louise.
thee." Do you hear me, Baby Louise ?
T'he dawn of the morning I have sung your praises for nearly an hour,
Saw Dermot returning, And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; And - you've gone to sleep, like a weary flower,
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
FROM "THE PRINCESS."
TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY.
SWEET and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Wind of the western sea !
Blow him again to me ;
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon ;
Father will come to thee soon ;
Under the silver moon :
TIMELY blossom, Infant fair,
Ever busy Time prepares ;
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
In Ireland they have a pretty fancy, that, when a chid smlles in its sleep, it is "talking with angels."
A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling ;
TO MY INFANT SON.
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
“0, blest be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
Thou happy, happy elf !
Thou tiny image of myself !
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin ;
THE LOST HEIR. (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin !)
“O where, and O where
Is my bonnie laddie gone?"-OLD SONG. Thou little tricksy Puck !
One day, as I was going by With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
That part of Holborn christened High, Light as the singing bird that rings the air, —
I heard a loud and sudden cry (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the
That chilled my very blood; stair !)
And lo! from out a dirty alley, Thou darling of thy sire!
Where pigs and Irish wont to rally, (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire !)
I saw a crazy woman sally, Thou imp of mirth and joy!
Bedaubed with grease and mud. In love's dear chain so bright a link,
She turned her East, she turned her West, Thou idol of thy parents ; – (Drat the boy !
Staring like Pythoness possest, There goes my ink.)
With streaming hair and leaving breast,
As one stark mad with grief. Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale, “O Lord ! O dear, my heart will break, I shall In harmless sport and mirth,
go stick stark staring'wild ! (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail !) Has ever a one seen anything about the streets
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey like a crying lost-looking child ? From every blossom in the world that blows, Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,
run, if I only knew which way(Another tumble ! That's his precious nose !)
A Child as is lost about London streets, and esThy father's pride and hope !
pecially Seven Dials, is a needle in a (He 'll break that mirror with that skipping
bottle of hay.
I am all in a quiver - get out of my sight, do, With pure heart newly stamped from nature's you wretch, you little Kitty M'Nab! mint,
You promised to have half an eye to him, you (Where did he learn that squint?)
know you did, you dirty deceitful young
drab. Thou domestic dove !
The last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was young (He'll have that ring off with another shove,)
with my own blessed Motherly eyes, Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest !
Sitting as good as gold in the gutter, a playing (Are these torn clothes his best ?)
at making little dirt-pies. Little epitome of man !
I wonder he left the court, where he was better
off than all the other young boys, (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan,) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning With two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster-shells,
and a dead kitten by way of toys. life, (He's got a knife !)
When his Father comes home, and he always Thou enviable being !
comes home as sure as ever the clock No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, He'll be rampant
, he will, at his child being Play on, play on, My elfin John !
lost ; and the beef and the inguns not
done! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) La bless you, good folks, mind your own conWith fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,
carns, and don't be making a mob in the
street; Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk !
O Sergeant M'Farlane ! you have not come across (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown !)
my poor little boy, have you, in your
beat? Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your Do, good people, move on ! don't stand staring nose !)
at me like a parcel of stupid stuck pigs ; Balmy and breathing music like the south,
Saints forbid ! but he's p'r’aps been inviggled (He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
away up a court for the sake of his clothes Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove;
by the priggs ; (I'll tell you what, my love,
He'd a very good jacket, for certain, for I bought I cannot write unless he's sent above.)
it myself for a shilling one day in Rag Fair ;