Lull me to rest, kind mother, And sing to me the while— These tearful eyes shall cease to weep These lips put on a smile. And tell me of that blessed land Where love is not in vain, And they who wept despairingly Shall never weep again. Lull me to rest, dear mother, Sing to me soft and low, The same sweet mournful strain, mother, You sang me long ago, I am weary and heart-broken, And I fain would be at rest, Oh take me in thine arms, mother— Let me slumber on thy breast. * * * * * A MIDNIGHT STORM IN MARCH. BY CAROLINE MAY. THE storm beats loud against my window-pane, And though upon the pillow of my bed In pleasant warmth is laid my grateful head, I cannot sleep for the excited train Of thoughts the storm arouses in my brain. O, wretched poor, who have no home—or if A home—are weak and weary, sore and stiff, For want of food and clothes and fire! O rain, Fierce rain, and howling wind, and hissing hail, Venting your rage beneath the flag of night— A black flag, without stars—how do they quail, Those aching, shivering poor, beneath your might! O God, be pitiful! and to the poor’s sad tale Make rich hearts open with the opening light. * * * * * BUONDLEMONTE. A TALE OF ITALY. BY JOSEPH A. NUNES. CHAPTER I. “SO thou art here, in Florence, to be wived, Buondlemonte?” a gay gallant laughingly observed to the tallest and most elegant of a group of cavaliers, as they sauntered leisurely together along the principal street of Florence: “Thou art at last to be shut out from the pale of happy celibacy, and be offered up, a living sacrifice, on the altar of that most insatiate of all insatiate deities, Hymen? By Mars, but I pity thee, poor youth!” “Reserve thy pity, thou thoughtless railer, for those who stand in need on’t,” the eldest of the party, a dark-complexioned, stern-featured man, replied in the same vein in which the first individual had spoken, though the frown on his brow, and the compression of his lips evinced that he was not pleased at the tone of the conversation. “Buondlemonte mates with the noblest house of Florence; and though he ranks with the first in Italy, he is not to be pitied when he enters the family of Amedi.”