THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH. BY FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. ART thou playing with Time, in thy sweet baby-glee? A blossom so glowing of bloom and of light. With thy blue eyes unshadowed, thy blush undefiled; 94 THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH. Laugh on! my own Ellen! that voice, which to me Gives a warning so solemn, makes music for thee; And while I at those sounds feel the idler's annoy, Thou hear'st but the tick of the pretty gold toy; Thou seest but a smile on the brow of the churl, May his frown never awe thee, my own baby-girl And oh! may his step as he wanders with thee, Light and soft as thine own little fairy-tread be! While still in all seasons, in storms and fair weather, May Time and my Ellen be playmates together. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONG FELLOW. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The river flowed between. 995 96 THE BELEAGUERED CITY. No other voice nor sound was there, But, when the old cathedral bell The white pavilions rose and fell Down the broad valley fast and far Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground SONNET-OCTOBER. And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, No other voice, nor sound is there, No other challenge breaks the air, And, when the solemn and deep church-bell The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled; Faith shineth as a morning star, SONNET-OCTOBER. BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath! And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. K |