None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;―
Rock me to sleep, mother, -rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;-
Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;-
Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep!
ONCE, on a golden afternoon,
With radiant faces and hearts in tune,
Two fond lovers, in dreaming mood,
Threaded a rural solitude.
Wholly happy, they only knew
That the earth was bright and the sky was blue;
That light and beauty and joy and song
Charmed the way as they passed along.
The air was fragrant with woodland scents;
The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence;
And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, chink?”
Queried the curious bobolink,
Pausing and peering with sidelong head,
As saucily questioning all they said;
While the ox-eye danced on its slender stem,
And all glad Nature rejoiced with them.
Over the odorous fields were strown
Wilting windrows of grass new-mown;
And rosy billows of clover-bloom
Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume.
Swinging low on a slender limb,
The sparrow warbled his wedding-hymn;
And balancing on a blackberry brier,
The bobolink sang with his heart on fire,
"Chink! if you wish to kiss her, do!
Do it! do it! you coward, you!
Kiss her! kiss, kiss her! who will see?
Only we three! we three! we three!"
Under garlands of drooping vines,
Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines,
Past wide meadow-fields, lately mowed,
Wandered the indolent country road.
The lovers followed it, listening still,
And, loitering slowly, as lovers will,
Entered a gray-roofed bridge, that lay
Dusk and cool in their pleasant way.
Under its arch a smooth brown stream
Silently glided with glint and gleam,
Shaded by graceful elms which spread
Their verdurous canopy overhead,
The stream so narrow, the boughs so wide,
They met and mingled across the tide.
Alders loved it and seemed to keep
Patient watch as it lay asleep,
Mirroring clearly the trees and sky
And the fluttering form of the dragon-fly,
Save where the swift-winged swallows played
In and out in the sun and shade,
And darting and curling in merry chase,
Dipped and dimpled its clear dark face.
Fluttering lightly from brink to brink,
Followed the garrulous bobolink,
Rallying loudly with mirthful din
The pair who lingered unseen within;
And when from the friendly bridge at last
Into the road beyond they passed,
Again beside them the tempter went,
Keeping the thread of his argument:
"Kiss her! kiss her! chink-a chee-chee!
I'll not mention it! don't mind me!
I'll be sentinel; I can see
All around from this tall birch-tree!"
But ah! they noted, nor deemed it strange,
In his rollicking chorus a trifling changed,
“Do it! do it!" with might and main
Warbled the tell-tale; "do it again!"
Down to the wharves, as the sun goes down,
And the daylight's tumult and dust and din
Are dying away in the busy town,
I go to see if my ship comes in.
I gaze far over the quiet sea,
Rosy with sunset, like mellow wine,
Where ships, like lilies, lie tranquilly,
Many and fair, but I see not mine.
I question the sailors every night
Who over the bulwarks idly lean,
Noting the sails as they come in sight,
"Have you seen my beautiful ship come in?"