LULLABY. SLEEP, little baby, sleep, love, sleep! Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep! Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep! Sleep till the dawning has dappled the sky; Under the lattice the little birds cheep, All will be waking by and by. ISLE OF WIGHT-SPRING, 1891. I KNOW not what the cause may be, What happy days we spent together How brilliant was the April weather! What glorious sunshine and what showers ! I think the leaves peeped out and in From dewdrops sparkling at our feet. What wealth of early bloom was there— And, oh, the splendour of the sea, The blue belt glimmering soft and far, Through many a tumbled rock and tree Strewn 'neath the overhanging scar! 'Tis twenty years and more, since here, As man and wife we sought this Isle, Dear to us both, O wife most dear, And we can greet it with a smile. Not now alone we come once more, One boy (Salopian), and four Girls, blooming into maidenhood. And I had late begun to fret And sicken at the sordid town- The crime, the guilt, and, loathlier yet, The helpless, hopeless sinking down; The want, the misery, the woe, The stubborn heart which will not turn; The tears which will or will not flow; The shame which does or does not burn. And Winter's frosts had proved unkind, With darkest gloom and deadliest cold; A time which will be brought to mind, And talked of, when our boys are old. And thus the contrast seemed to wake Or hopes for growing girl or boy, And so I know not if it be That there are causes one or many, But this year's Spring still seems to me More exquisite than any. LOVE AND LIBERTY. THE linnet had flown from its cage away, Alas! poor bird, it was soon to prove, When night came on it had ceased to sing, The night owls shrieked as they wheeled along, Bent upon slaughter, and rapine, and wrong: There was devilish mirth in their wild halloo, And the linnet trembled when near they drew ; 'Twas fearful to watch them madly rove, Drunken with Liberty, left of Love. When morning broke, a grey old crow Then an eagle hovered far up in the sky, By and bye there arrived, with chattering loud, They plucked the feathers from breast and back; And the poor little linnet all vainly strove, Fighting with Liberty left of Love. "Alas!" it said, with a cry of pain, TO THE REV. A. A. IN THE COUNTRY FROM HIS FRIEND IN LONDON. (AFTER HEINE.) THOU little village curate, Come quick, and do not wait; We'll sit and talk together, So sweetly tête-a-tête. |