My parents sleep both in one grave; A fine, stout boy I knew him once, With active form and limb; Whene'er he leaped, or jumped, or ran, O, I was proud of him! He leaped too far, he got a hurt, He leans on me, when we to school I cheer him on his weary way,- The theme of which is mostly this, Then I reply, "Indeed you 're not Scarce any weight at all, And let us now still younger years To memory recall. "Led by your little elder hand, "How often, when my young feet tired, You've carried me a mile, And still together we can sit, And rest a little while. “For our kind master never minds, If we're the very last; He bids us never tire ourselves With walking on too fast." A BALLAD. TRANSLATED FROM HERDER, BY MARY HOWITT. AMONG green, pleasant meadows, Was set a marble image Of the Virgin and the child. Here, oft, on summer evenings, Oft sat his mother by him, Was once a child like him. "And now from highest heaven Thus spoke his tender mother; Again the boy was playing, Come down and play with me! "I will find thee flowers the fairest, "O holy, holy Mother, Put him down from off thy knee; For in these silent meadows There are none to play with me!" Thus spoke the boy so lovely, That self-same night she dreamed Jesus She thought she saw young "And for the fruits and flowers Which thou hast brought to me, Rich blessing shall be given A thousand-fold to thee! "For in the fields of heaven Thou shalt roam with me at will, And of bright fruits celestial Thou shalt have, dear child, thy fill!" Thus tenderly and kindly The fair child Jesus spoke ; And, full of careful musings, The anxious mother woke. And thus it was accomplished:- And thus he spoke in dying:- "And in his hand he beareth Bright flowers as white as snow, And red and juicy strawberries, Dear mother, let me go!" He died—but that fond mother For she knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again! THE BROKEN DOLL.-Miss Lamb. An infant is a selfish sprite; But what of that? the sweet delight Is quite unknown to these young things. In pleasing more than only one, He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke, That he our new wax-doll has broke. Anger will never teach him better; We will the spirit and the letter Of courtesy to him display, By taking in a friendly way These baby frolics, till he learn True sport from mischief to discern. Reproof a parent's province is; A sister's discipline is this, By studied kindness to effect A little brother's young respect. What is a doll? a fragile toy; What is its loss? if the dear boy, Who half perceives he has done amiss, Retain impression of the kiss That followed instant on his cheek, If the kind, loving words we speak Of "Never mind it," "We forgive,”. If these in his short memory live, |