avender
I hear the brawling bees.

L.W. REESE.

Negro Lullaby.

Bedtimes' come fu' little boys,
Po' little lamb.
Too tiahed out to make a noise,
Po' little lamb.
You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'?
Yes, you tole me dat, befo',
Don't you fool me, chile, no mo',
Po' little lamb.

You been bad de livelong day,
Po' little lamb.
Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way,
Po' little lamb.
My, but you's a-runnin' wild,
Look jes' lak some po' folks' chile;
Mam' gwine whup you atter while,
Po' little lamb.

Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def,
Po' little lamb.
Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref,
Po' little lamb.
See dem han's now,--sich a sight!
Would you ever b'lieve dey's white!
Stan' still 'twell I wash dem right,
Po' little lamb.

Jes' caint hol' yo' haid up straight,
Po' little lamb.
Hadn't oughter played so late,
Po' little lamb.
Mammy do' know whut she'd do,
Ef de chillun's all lak you;
You's a caution now fu' true,
Po' little lamb.

Lay yo' haid down in my lap,
Po' little lamb.
Y'ought to have a right good slap,
Po' little lamb.
You been runnin' roun' a heap.
Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep,
Dah now, dah now, go to sleep,
Po' little lamb.

P.L. DUNBAR.

A Woman's Thought.

I am a woman--therefore I may not
Call to him, cry to him,
Fly to him,
Bid him delay not!

And when he comes to me, I must sit quiet:
Still as a stone--
All silent and cold.
If my heart riot--
Crush and defy it!
Should I grow bold--
Say one dear thing to him,
All my life fling to him,
Cling to him--
What to atone
Is enough for my sinning!
This were the cost to me,
This were my winning--
That he were lost to me.
Not as a lover
At last if he part from me,
Tearing my heart from me--
Hurt beyond cure,--
Calm and demure
Then must I hold me--
In myself fold me--
Lest he discover;
Showing no sign to him
By look of mine to him
What he has been to me--
How my heart turns to him,
Follows him, yearns to him,
Prays him to love me.

Pity me, lean to me,
Thou God above me!

R.W. GILDER.

The Flight.

Upon a cloud among the stars we stood.
The angel raised his hand and looked and said,
"Which world, of all yon starry myriad
Shall we make wing to?" The still solitude
Becam