HENRY KIRKR WlHTi: S POEMS. 



The woody dell, the hanging rock, 



The chamois skipping o'er the heights ; 

 The plain adorned with many a flock, 

 And, oh ! a thousand more delights, 

 That grace yon dear beloved retreat, 

 Have backward won my weary feet. 



iir. 



Now safe returned, with wandering tired, 



No more ray little home I'll leave ; 

 And many a tale of what I've seen 



Shall while away the winter's eve. 

 Oh ! I have wandered far and wide, 



O'er many a distant foreign land ; 

 Each place, each province I have tried, 



And sung and danced my saraband ; 

 But all their charms could not prevail, 

 To steal my heart from yonder vale. 



THE LULLABY 



OF A FEMALE COInVICT TO HER CHILD, THE NIGHT PREVIOtS 

 TO EXECUTION. 



'Sleep, babj mine, enkerchieft on my bosom, 

 Thy cries they pierce again my bleeding breist; 



Sleep, baby mine, not long thou'lt have a mother, 

 To lull thee fondly in her arms to rest. 



Baby, why dost thou keep this sad complaining 

 Long from mine eyes have kindly slumbers fled ; 



Hush, hush, my babe, the night is quickly wani g, 

 And I would fain compose my aching head. 



Poor wayward wretch ! and who will heed thy wee ing, 

 When soon an outcast on the world thou'lt be : 



* Sir Philip Sidney lias a poem beginning, " Sleep, liaby mine. 



