BABY CHARLEY.

HE's fast asleep. See how, O Wife,
Night's finger on the lip of life
Bids whist the tongue, so prattle-rife,
Of busy Baby Charley.

One arm stretched backward round his head,

Five little toes from out the bed

Just showing, like five rosebuds red,

-So slumbers Baby Charley.

Heaven-lights, I know, are beaming through
Those lucent eyelids, veined with blue,
That shut away from mortal view
Large eyes of Baby Charley

O sweet Sleep-Angel, throned now
On the round glory of his brow,
Wave thy wing and waft my vow
Breathed over Baby Charley.

I vow that my heart, when death is nigh,
Shall never shiver with a sigh

For act of hand or tongue or eye

That wronged my Baby Charley!

MACON, GEORGIA, December, 1869.

A SEA-SHORE GRAVE.

To M. J. L.

BY SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER.

O WISH that's vainer than the plash

Of these wave-whimsies on the shore:

"Give us a pearl to fill the gash

God, let our dead friend live once more!"

O wish that 's stronger than the stroke Of yelling wave and snapping levin ; "God, lift us o'er the Last Day's smoke,

All white, to Thee and her in Heaven!"

O wish that's swifter than the race

Of wave and wind in sea and sky;
Let's take the grave-cloth from her face
And fall in the grave, and kiss, and die!

Look! High above a glittering calm
Of sea and sky and kingly sun,

She shines and smiles, and waves a palm--
And now we wish-Thy will be done!

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA, 1866.

SOULS AND RAIN-DROPS.

LIGHT rain-drops fall and wrinkle the sea, Then vanish, and die utterly.

One would not know that rain-drops fell If the round sea-wrinkles did not tell.

So souls come down and wrinkle life
And vanish in the flesh-sea strife.
One might not know that souls had place
Were 't not for the wrinkles in life's face.

NILSSON.

A ROSE of perfect red, embossed
With silver sheens of crystal frost,
Yet warm, nor life nor fragrance lost.

High passion throbbing in a sphere
That Art hath wrought of diamond clear,
-A great heart beating in a tear.

The listening soul is full of dreams
That shape the wondrous-varying themes
As cries of men or plash of streams.

Or noise of summer rain-drops round
That patter daintily a-ground
With hints of heaven in the sound.

Or noble wind-tones chanting free
Through morning-skies across the sea
Wild hymns to some strange majesty.

O, if one trope, clear-cut and keen,
May type the art of Song's best queen,
White-hot of soul, white-chaste of mien,

On Music's heart doth Nilsson dwell

As if a Swedish snow-flake fell

Into a glowing flower-bell.

NEW YORK, 1871.

NIGHT AND DAY.

THE innocent, sweet Day is dead.
Dark Night hath slain her in her bed.
O, Moors are as fierce to kill as to wed!
—Put out the light, said he.

A sweeter light than ever rayed
From star of heaven or eye of maid
Has vanished in the unknown Shade.
-She's dead, she 's dead, said he.

Now, in a wild, sad after-mood
The tawny Night sits still to brood
Upon the dawn-time when he wooed.
-I would she lived, said he.

Star-memories of happier times,
Of loving deeds and lovers' rhymes,
Throng forth in silvery pantomimes.

—Come back, O Day! said he.

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA, 1866.