Little one, be not frightened :

I and the wolf together,

Side by side, through the long, long night
Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me;
Each of us warmed the other;
Each of us felt, in the stormy dark,
That beast and man was brother.

And when the falling forest

No longer crashed in warning, Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me in payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring!

-Bayard Taylor.

LOST ON THE PRAIRIE.

Он, my baby, my child, my darling!
Lost and gone in the prairie wild;
Mad gray wolves from the forest snarling,
Snarling for thee, my little child!

Lost, lost! gone forever!

Gay snakes rattled, and charmed, and sung;

On thy head the sun's fierce fever,

Dews of death on thy white lip hung!

Dead and pale in the moonlight's glory,
Cold and dead by the black oak-tree;
Only a small shoe, stained and gory,
Blood-red, tattered, comes home to me.

Over the grass that rolls, like ocean,
On and on to the blue, bent sky,
Something comes with a hurried motion,
Something calls with a choking cry,-

"Here, here! not dead, but living!

God! Thy goodness what can I pray?
Blessed more in this second giving,
Laid in happier arms to-day.

Oh, my baby, my child, my darling!
Wolf, and snake, and the lonely tree

Still are rustling, hissing, snarling;
Here's my baby come back to me !

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night, You to the town must go ;

And take a lantern, child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do; 'Tis scarcely afternoon,The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon !"

At this the father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band.
He plied his work ;-and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

The storm came on before its time;
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At daybreak on the hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept, and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet; ""

When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small

And through the broken hawthorn-hedge
And by the low stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed

The marks were still the same :

They tracked them on, nor ever lost
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none !

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

;

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

William Wordsworth.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.

WE were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep, –
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter,
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!

So we shuddered there in silence,

د,

For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy with his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,

Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

- James T. Fields.