TO A DAUGHTER OF NEW ENGLAND

ON RECEIPT OF A PUMPKIN PIE ON THANKSGIVING DAY.

Thanks, lady, thanks-thy hand well skilled

To touch with fairy fingers

The harpsichord with music filled,

As o'er it beauty lingers

Didst thou descend where plate and platter

In goodly order stand,

And form for me this pretty batter,
This gift from Yankee Land?

Oh, were I blest with wit and taste
Well seasoned as thy pie,

I would in numbers puff thy paste,
Nor make a tart reply.

Thou modest pumpkin! gentle hands
Did pluck thee from the vine
And made thee pride of eastern lands
Whene'er their children dine.

And though thou wert of modest birth,
Nay, grovelled in the dirt,

Yet all New England knows thy worth
And owns thy rich dessert!

And Pilgrim daughters on this isle,
Where squashes most abound,
Will greet thy presence with a smile,
When Thanksgiving rolls around.

Then, lady, will my prayers ascend
For richest gifts on thee;

And Heaven will bless the gentle friend
Who shares her crust with me.

Watch them closely, mark them sharply,
As across the light they pass :
Seem they not to have the figures
Of a little lad and lass?

See, my child, across their shoulders
Lies a little pole, and lo!
Yonder speck is just the bucket
Swinging softly to and fro.

It is said these little children,
Many and many a summer night,
To a little well, far northward,
Wandered in the still moonlight.

To the wayside well they trotted,
Filled their little buckets there :

And the moon-man looking downward,
Saw how beautiful they were.

Quoth the man : "How vexed and sulky
Looks the little rosy boy!

But the little handsome maiden

Trips behind him full of joy.

"To the well behind the hedge-row Trot the little lad and maiden; From the well behind the hedge-row

Now the little pail is laden.

"How they please me! how they tempt me! Shall I snatch them up to-night?

Snatch them, set them here forever,
In the middle of my light?

'Children, ay, and children's children, Should behold my babes on high; And my babes should smile forever, Calling others to the sky!"

Thus the philosophic moon-man
Muttered many years ago;
Set the babes with pail and bucket
To delight the folks below.

Never is the bucket empty;
Never are the children old;
Ever when the moon is shining
We the children may behold.

Ever young and ever little,

Ever sweet and ever fair!
When thou art a man, my darling,
Still the children will be there.

Ever young and ever little,

They will smile when thou art old; When thy locks are thin and silver, Theirs will still be shining gold.

They will haunt thee from their heaven, Softly beckoning down the gloom; Smiling in eternal sweetness

On thy cradle, on thy tomb!

BABY'S THINGS.

THALIA WILKINSON.

Hide the little boots away

Boots wherein your darling's feet
Pattered through the busy day,
Making all your life complete :
But the feet are still to-day-
Hide the little boots away.

Hide the little cap from sight-
There are, now, no baby-eyes,
Gladdened by its tassel bright,
Laughing out in gay surprise ;
Dear, sweet eyes are closed for aye—
Hide the little cap away.

Hide the dainty coat from sight

For he'll scarcely need it now,
With his dimpled arms so white
And this silence o'er his brow-
Little empty coat of gray,
Put it with the cap away.

Hide the precious form from sight,
With these other useless things-
Lay it 'neath the blossoms white,
For he's won his cherub-wings;
And the feet shall never stray,
That are so white and still to-day.

THE MOAT OF LIFE.

JOHN ANTROBUS.

I had a dream!

In childhood's happy day;

The gilded crocus carpeted my way;
The blue-bell nestled low among the leaves,
Tawney and purple vines and yellow sheaves.
A sense of happiness my life did only seem.
A murmuring dream!

I had a hope!

When youth came flushing on,

Clad with the tinted garments of the sun.
Wild roses opening clasped in either hand,
Whose petals noiseless dropped on jeweled sand,
Long, perfumed vistas, through whose aisles I saw
The ocean Life by many a bosky shore;
Where, blue and gold, arose on every slope
The robes of hope!

I had a love!

The passion all divine,

The glittering ruby of the sun-flushed wine,
Nor froth, nor dregs, but crystals pure as gold
Reflecting tenderly the thought untold-
Bright, panting forms and rosy sandaled feet,
Swift flying where the yellow jasmines meet.
Deep, violet eyes and sun-meshed hair that wove
This tangle love!

I had a thought!

That widened like those rings,

Evoked of placid pools by rushing wings:

Or rain-drops falling, making countless spheresOne tear the portent of a thousand tears.