INFANCY. ANONYMOUS. SWEET, lovely infancy! When every attitude is grace, The rounded limb, the smiling face, All charming symmetry. How the glad mother hears Another self in its first cry, Rejoices in its laughing eye, Trying its little power, Fears not the steel that can destroy, Or flame that can devour. Its little, winning way Secures in every breast a friend : Hard is the heart, that does not bend, And feel that gentle sway. CHILDHOOD. BY MISS EMILY TAYLOR. I LOVE to bid myself adieu, with all the motley train Of hopes and fears and fancies thick, and be a child again : To hear the simple voice proclaim at once the spirit's thought, Is it not worth a long, long tale, with utmost labour wrought! The joyous, cheaply-purchased mirth, belief so quickly won, Complete oblivion of the day, when once its work is done; The free, unburthened strength of soul, given out each hour anew, And springing up, as light as air, fresh objects to pursue. But better still it is to win a child's confiding love, Reposing in its perfect peace, as angels rest above; Well may the guilty shrink to meet that undeservèd trust, But joy to him whose conscience says the childish faith is just. There are sweet musings stored for him, upon his midnight bed; Bright faces meet him in his dreams, and hover round his head; The spirit of a younger time leads on to latest years, And childhood's gay and mirthful song is ever in his ears. Joy to him! Life to all around a cheerless waste may seem, A dream of heaven is in his heart, a bright prophetic dream: Who can destroy his bosom's peace, to whom that lot is given To feel his spirit peopled thus, and say, OF SUCH IS HEAVEN!" THE SEPARATION. JOANNA BAILLIE. [EXTRACT.] GARCIO. THE child! my child! [Lifting the mantle that covers it, and gazing on the infant. ROVANI. Ay, there are cheeks and lips like roses glowing; Like loopholes in a cloud.-Awake, sweet imp! GARCIO. Nay, wake him not; his sleep is beautiful: [Taking the child. Here in the inmost core of beating life I'd lodge thee. Mine thou art! yes, thou art mine! Here is my treasured being: thou wilt love me, SONNET. ON SEEING A LITTLE CHILD LISTENING TO A COWRIE-SHELL. H. M. R. I SEE thee stand, joy beaming in thy eyes, The thousand bright and graceful forms that glide And all the splendour there concealed that lies. Listening to this low-murmured melody Thy guileless heart with sweet delight doth glow; No care, no sin, its work hath wrought on thee, Marring with discord the perpetual flow Of nature's full and perfect harmony, |