SICILIAN LULLABY.

HUSH, little one, and fold your hands;

The sun hath set, the moon is high;

The sea is singing to the sands,

And wakeful posies are beguiled

By many a fairy lullaby :

Hush, little child, my little child!

Dream, little one, and in your dreams
Float upward from this lowly place, -
Float out on mellow, misty streams

To lands where bideth Mary mild,
And let her kiss thy little face,

You little child, my little child!

Sleep, little one, and take thy rest,

With angels bending over thee,

Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast

Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled;

But stay not there, come back to me,

O little child, my little child!

HORACE TO PYRRHA.

WHAT

HAT perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah,
With smiles for diet,

Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,
On the quiet?

For whom do you bind up your tresses,
As spun-gold yellow,-

Meshes that go, with your caresses,
To snare a fellow ?

How will he rail at fate capricious,
And curse you duly !

Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,
You perfect, truly!

Pyrrha, your love 's a treacherous ocean;
He'll soon fall in there!

Then shall I gloat on his commotion,

For I have been there!

THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.

MY

Y Shepherd is the Lord my God,
There is no want I know;

His flock He leads in verdant meads,
Where tranquil waters flow.

He doth restore my fainting soul
With His divine caress,

And, when I stray, He points the way

To paths of righteousness.

Yea, though I walk the vale of death,
What evil shall I fear?

Thy staff and rod are mine, O God,
And Thou, my Shepherd, near!

Mine enemies behold the feast

Which my dear Lord hath spread;

And, lo! my cup He filleth up,

With oil anoints my head!

Goodness and mercy shall be mine Unto my dying day;

Then will I bide at His dear side

Forever and for aye!

THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE.

HE womenfolk are like to books,

THE

Most pleasing to the eye,

Whereon if anybody looks
He feels disposed to buy.

I hear that many are for sale,
Those that record no dates,

And such editions as regale
The view with colored plates.

Of every quality and grade

And size they may be found,

Quite often beautifully made,
As often poorly bound.

Now, as for me, had I my choice,

I'd choose no folio tall,

But some octavo to rejoice

My sight and heart withal,

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