PHILIP, MY KING.

Since all must life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave

'Tis folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

Sir William Jones.

L

PHILIP, MY KING.

"Who bears upon his baby brow the round

And top of sovereignty."

OOK at me with thy large brown eyes,

Philip, my king!

For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's royal dignities.

Lay on my neck thy tiny hand

With Love's invisible sceptre laden;

I am thine Esther, to command

Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my king!

O, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my king!

When those beautiful lips 'gin suing,

And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest love-glorified! · Rule kindly,

Tenderly over thy kingdom fair;

For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,

Philip, my king!

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Up from thy sweet mouth,

Philip, my king!

up to thy brow,

The spirit that there lies sleeping now
May rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer
Let me behold thee in future years!
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my king;

A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my king,

Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ;
Rebels within thee and foes without

Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious, Martyr, yet monarch; till angels shout,

As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious,

“Philip, the king!"

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

HOW'S MY BOY?

O, sailor of the sea!

"How's my boy, my boy?"

—

"What's your boy's name, good wife,
And in what ship sailed he?"

HOW'S MY BOY?

What care I for the ship, sailor?
My boy 's my boy to me.

"You come back from sea,

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman,
Yonder down in the town.

There's not an ass in all the parish

But knows my John.

And unless you let me know,

I'll swear you are no sailor,

Blue jacket or no,

Brass buttons or no, sailor,
Anchor and crown or no,

Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton

"Speak low, woman, speak low! "

,,,

"And why should I speak low, sailor,
About my own boy John?

If I was loud as I am proud
I'd sing him over the town!

Why should I speak low, sailor ? "
"That good ship went down."

"How's my boy, — my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor?
I was never aboard her.

Be she afloat or be she aground,
Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound

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Her owners can afford her!
I say, how 's my John?"
"Every man on board went down,
Every man aboard her.”

"How's my boy,— my boy?
What care I for the men, sailor?
I'm not their mother,
How's my boy, my boy?

Tell me of him and no other!

How's my boy,—my boy?"

Sydney Dobell.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

ETWEEN the dark and the daylight,

BE

When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations That is known as the children's hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall-stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

A whisper, and then a silence;

Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall:
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall.

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me : They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses;
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti !
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am

Is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon
In the round tower of my heart.

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