Born with their songs, gone with their toys; By purr of cat, or chirp of bird, Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor, How is it with the child? 'Tis well; Might stir my sleeper's tranquil trance, No, Shunamite! I would not break God's stillness. Let them weep who wake. For Charlie's sake my lot is blest: ALLAN PERCY. 173 IT Allan Percy. T was a beauteous lady richly dressed; Around her neck are chains of jewels rare; A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast, And a young child is softly slumbering there. She bears him onward to the greenwood tree. Though a proud earl be father to my child, My child were cradled 'neath the greenwood tree. Slumber thou still, my innocent, mine own, While I call back the dreams of other days. In the deep forest I feel less alone Than where those palace splendors mock my gaze. Fear not! my arm shall bear thee safely back; I need no squire, no page with bended knee, To bear my baby through the wildwood track, Where Allan Percy used to roam with me. Lullaby! Here I can sit; and while the fresh wind blows, Giving thy cheek a deeper tinge of rose, I can dream dreams that comfort my despair ; I can make visions of a different home, Such as we hoped in other days might be ; Thou art mine own, Lullaby! I'll bear thee where I list, CAROLINE NORTON. Cuddle Doon. HE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, THE Wi' muckle faucht an' din; O, try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, They never heed a word I speak; I try to gie a froon, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid The rascal starts them a'. I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, Then draw the blankets up an' cry, CUDDLE DOON. But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, At length they hear their father's fit, While Tam pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, As he pits off his shoon; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel', We look at oor wee lambs; Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck, I lift wee Jamie up the bed, I whisper, till my heart fills up, The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, But sune the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." 175 ALEXANDER ANDERSON. |