Thus they wipe their heads and eyes;
Cats, you know,

WEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while

my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;

WILLIE WINKIE.

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon :

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

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ALFRED TENNYSON.

Willie Winkie.

EE Willie Winkie rins through the town,

WEE

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 gie 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

wauknin' sleepin' folk!

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 Adopted Child.

HY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child?

Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, —

A straw-roofed cabin, with lowly wall;

Mine is a fair and pillared hall,

Where many an image of marble gleams,

And the sunshine of pictures forever streams."

"Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play
Through the long bright hours of the summer day;
They find the red cup-moss where they climb,
And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme,

And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know, Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go."

"Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell;
Here are sweet sounds that thou lovest well:
Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,
Harps which the wandering breezes tune,
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountain heard.”

"Oh! my mother sings at the twilight's fall
A song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree
To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamt last night of that music low,
Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go."

"Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest;
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
Nor hear her song at the cabin door.

Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,

And we 'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye."

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

"Is my mother gone from her home away?
But I know that my brothers are there at play;
I know they are gathering the foxglove's bell,
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well;

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Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow, Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go."

"Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now;
They sport no more on the mountain's brow;
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,

For the cabin home is a lonely spot."

"Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still;
And the red deer bound in their gladness free,
And the heath is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,
Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go."

FELICIA HEMANS.

The Romance of the Swan's Nest.

L'

ITTLE Ellie sits alone

'Mid the beeches of a meadow,
By a stream-side on the grass,
And the trees are showering down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow,
On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by,
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow.
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and dripping,
While she rocketh to and fro.