ittle girl next to him, while sitting upon her
nurse's lap, fell asleep, and as she slept let her head fall upon his
shoulder. This is a very simple thing to make a poem about, but what a
poem it is!

Oh, that the road were longer
A mile, or two, or three!
So might the thought grow stronger
That flows from touch of thee.

_Oh little slumbering maid,
If thou wert five years older,
Thine head would not be laid
So simply on my shoulder!_

_Oh, would that I were younger,
Oh, were I more like thee,
I should not faintly hunger
For love that cannot be._

A girl might be caressed
Beside me freely sitting;
A child on knee might rest,
And not like thee, unwitting.

Such honour is thy mother's,
Who smileth on thy sleep,
Or for the nurse who smothers
Thy cheek in kisses deep.

And but for parting day,
And but for forest shady,
From me they'd take away
The burden of their lady.

Ah thus to feel thee leaning
Above the nursemaid's hand,
Is like a stranger's gleaning
Where rich men own the land;

Chance gains, and humble thrift,
With shyness much like thieving,
No notice with the gift,
No thanks with the receiving.

Oh peasant, when thou starvest
Outside the fair domain,
Imagine there's a harvest
In every treasured grain.

Make with thy thoughts high cheer,
Say grace for others dining,
And keep thy pittance clear
From poison of repining.

There is an almost intolerable acuity of sadness in the last two mocking
verses, but how pretty and how tender the whole thing is, and how
gentle-hearted must have been the man who wrote it! The same tenderness
reappears in references to children of a larger growth, the boys of his
school. Sometimes he very much regrets the necessity of discipline, and
advocates a wiser method of dealing with the young. How very pretty is
this little verse about the boy he loves.

Sweet eyes, that aim a level shaft,
At pleasure flying from afar,
Sweet lips, just parted for a draught
Of Hebe's nectar, shall I mar
By stress of disciplinal craft
The joys that in your freedom are?

But a little reflection further on in the same poem reminds us how
necessary the discipline must be for the battle of life, inasmuch as each
of those charming boys will have to fight against evil--

yet shall ye cope
With worlding wrapped in silken lies,