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THE ORPHAN BOY.

Alas! I am an orphan boy,

With nought on earth to cheer my heart: No father's Jove, no mother's joy,

Nor kin, nor kind, to take my part.
My lodging is the cold—cold ground;

I eat the bread of charity;
And, when the kiss of love goes round,

There is no kiss, alas! for me.

Yet once I had a father dear,

A mother, too, I wont to prize, With ready hand to wipe the tear—

If chanced a childish tear to rise: But cause of tears was rarely found;

For all my heart was youthful glee; And, when the kisls of'love went round,

How sweet a kiss there was for me!

But, ah! there came a war, they say—

What is a war I cannot tell;
But drums and fifes did sweetly play,

And loudly rung our village bell.

In troth, it was a pretty sound,

I thought! nor could I thence foresee

That, when the kiss of love went round,
There soon should be no kiss for me.

A scarlet coat my father took,

And sword, as bright as bright could be! And feathers that so gaily look,

All in a shining cap had he.
Then how my little heart did bound;

Alas! I thought it fine to see;
Nor dreamt that, when the kiss went round,

There soon should be no kiss for me.

My mother sighed, my mother wept,
. My father talked of wealth and fame;
But still she wept, and sighed, and wept,

Till I, to see her, did the same.
But soon the horsemen throng around,

My father mounts with shout and glee: Then gave a kiss to all around;

And, ah! how sweet a kiss to me!

But when I found he rode so far,

And came not home as heretofore, I said it was a naughty war,

And loved the fife and drum no more.

My mother oft in tears was drowned—
Nor merry tale, nor song had she;

And, when the hour of night came round,
Sad was the kiss she gave to me.

At length the bell again did ring;

There was a victory they said: 'Twas what my father said he'd bring;

But, ah! it brought my lather dead. My mother shrieked; her heart was woe;

She clasped me to her trembling knee. Oh, God! that you may never know

How wild a kiss she gave to me.

But once again—but once again

These lips a mother's kisses felt; That once again—that once again—

The tale a heart of stone would melt; 'Twas when upon her death-bed laid,—

(Oh, God! oh, God! that sight to see I) 'My child !—my child !' she feebly said,

And gave a parting kiss to me.

So, now, I am an orphan boy,

With nought below my heart to cheer z.

No mother's love, no father's joy,
Nor kin, nor kind, to wipe the tear.

My lodging is the cold—cold ground;

I eat the bread of charity;
And when the kiss of love goes round,
There is no kiss of love for me.

But I will to the grave and weep,

Where late they laid my mother low,
And buried her with earth so deep,

All in her shroud as white as snow.
And there I'll call on her so loud,

All underneath the church-yard tree,
To wrap me in her snow-white shroud—

For those cold lips are dear to me.

Thelwall.

THE SOLITARY TOMB.

Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me was stirred,
Though a breath might have moved it so lightly;

Nor a farewell note from a sweet-singing bird,
Bade adieu to the sun setting brightly.

[graphic]

The sky was cloudless and calm, except
In the west, where the sun was descending;

And there the rich tints of the rainbow slept,
As his beams with their beauty were blending.

And the evening star with its ray so clear,

So tremulous, soft, and tender, Had lit up its lamp, and shot down from its sphere

Its dewy, delightful splendour.

And I stood all alone on that gentle hill,
With a landscape so lovely before me;

And its spirit and tone, so serene and still,
Seemed silently gathering o'er me.

Far off was the Deben, whose briny flood

By its windy banks was sweeping;
And close by the foot of the hill where I stood

The dead in their damp graves were sleeping.

How lonely and lovely their resting-place seemed!

An enclosure which care could not enter; And how sweetly the grey lights of evening gleamed

On the solitary tomb in its centre I

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