Floating Sleep! who in the sun And, beneath the viewless dun, Wend thee to the southern main Bend to God thy melting knee, Mingle with the wave again! SAMUEL WOODWORTH. THE BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well! That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in his well. MRS. GILMAN. THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. MOTHER, mother, the winds are at play, Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie But very lazily flieth he, And he sits and twitters a gentle note, You bid me be busy; but, mother, hear I wish, oh, I wish, I was yonder cloud, And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee. MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH? "MOTHER, how still the baby lies! I cannot see his laughing eyes- My little work I thought to bring, They hushed me— -he is dead. They say that he again will rise, That God will bless him in the skies-- 66 Daughter, do you remember, dear, |