My mother taught me underneath a tree; And, pointing to the east, began to say: "Look on the rising sun; there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. "And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. "For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The clouds will vanish; we shall hear his voice, Saying: 'Come from the grove, my love and care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'” Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, And thus I say to little English boy: When I from black, and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me. WILLIAM BLAKE. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend: Nor shall she fail to see, Grace that shall mould the maiden's form "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake.— The work was done — How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. On the Death of an Infant. A HOST of angels flying, Worthy to glitter bright O'er whom life's earliest morn Virtue it could not know, The blest angelic legion, And came, with looks of love, They spread their pinions o'er it,— Translation of H. S. VAN DYK. 149 DIRK SMITS. (Dutch.) The Open Window. THE old house by the lindens I saw the nursery windows The large Newfoundland house-dog They walked not under the lindens, The birds sang in the branches, Will be heard in dreams alone! And the boy that walked beside me, Why closer in mine, ah! closer, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. Baby's Shoes. Oн those little, those little blue shoes! Those shoes that no little feet use. Oh the price were high That those shoes would buy, Those little blue unused shoes! For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet, That by God's good will, Years since, grew still, And ceased from their totter so sweet. And oh, since that baby slept, That little dear treasure, - For they mind her for evermore And blue eyes she sees Look up from her knees As they lie before her there, That's a gleam in the place, Then oh, wonder not that her heart Than those tiny blue shoes And whose sight makes such fond tears start! As, at one bound, our swift Spring heaps An angel stood and met my gaze, Through the low doorway of my tent; The tent is struck, the vision stays; I only know she came and went. Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, And when the oil is nearly spent, One gush of light these eyes will brim, Only to think she came and went. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. The Morning-Glory. WE wreathed about our darling's head Her little face looked out beneath, That we could only say, So always from that happy time But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue, As turned her sweet eyes to the light, Brimmed with sleep's tender dew: And not so close their tendrils fine Round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. We used to think how she had come, Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift To crown Love's morning hour; |