Though I see smiling at my feet

Five sons and one fair daughter sweet,
And time and care and birthtime woes
Have dimm'd thine eye, and touch'd thy rose,
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong
Whate'er charms me in tale or song.
When words descend, like dews unsought,
With gleams of deep enthusiast thought,
And Fancy in her heaven flies free,
They come, my love, they come from thee.

Oh, when more thought we gave, of old,
To silver, than some give to gold,
'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er
How we should deck our humble bower;
'Twas sweet to pull, in hope, with thee,
The golden fruit of Fortune's tree;
And sweeter still to choose and twine
A garland for that brow of thine:
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean,
While rivers flow, and woods grow green.

At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought,
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light;

And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like a rainbow through the shower.

Oh, then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye,
And proud resolve and purpose meek
Speak of thee more than words can speak.

I think this wedded life of mine

The best of all things not divine.

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

"Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!"

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free.-
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashing freeWhile the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

SIDNEY WALKER.

TO A GIRL IN HER THIRTEENTH YEAR

THY smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays,

So beautiful approve thee,

So winning light are all thy ways,

I cannot choose but love thee.

Thy balmy breath upon my brow
Is like the summer air,

As o'er my cheek thou leanest now,
To plant a soft kiss there.

Thy steps are dancing toward the bound
Between the child and woman,

And thoughts and feelings more profound,
And other years are coming:

And thou shalt be more deeply fair,

More precious to the heart,

But never canst thou be again

That lovely thing thou art!

And youth shall pass, with all the brood

Of fancy-fed affection;

And grief shall come with womanhood,

And waken cold reflection.

Thou 't learn to toil, and watch, and weep

O'er pleasures unreturning,

Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep

Unto the cares of morning.

Nay, say not so! nor cloud the sun

Of joyous expectation, Ordain'd to bless the little one,

The freshling of creation!

Nor doubt that He who thus doth feed
Her early lamp with gladness,
Will be her present Help in need,

Her Comforter in sadness.