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Giants and genii claim'd each wondering ear;
And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood,
Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood;

MOTHER AND CHILD.

Oft, fancy led, at midnight's fearful hour

With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,

Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.

As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,

Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend.

The storied arras, source of fond delight,

With old achievements charms the wilder'd sight;
And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest,
On the dim window glows the pictur'd crest.
The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart,
The clock still points its moral to the heart.
That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear,
When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near;
And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time?

The massive beam, with curious carving wrought,
Whence the caged linnet sooth'd my pensive thought;
Those muskets, cased with venerable rust;

Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro' their dust;
Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast,
Starting to life-all whisper of the Past!

MOTHER AND CHILD.

THE day arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd:
The child is born, by many a pang endear'd:
And now, the Mother's ear has caught his cry!
Oh! grant the cherub to her asking eye.
He comes!-she clasps him! To her bosom prest,
He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.

Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows ; How soon by his the glad discovery shows!

As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,

What answering looks of sympathy and joy!
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard;
And ever, ever to her lap he flies,

When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Lock'd in her arms, his arms across her flung,
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue,)
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart;
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove,
And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love!

But soon a nobler task demands her care,
Apart she joins his little hands in prayer,
Telling of Him who sees in secret there:
And now the volume on her knee has caught
His wandering eye-now many a written thought
Never to die, with many a lisping sweet,
His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat.
Released, he chases the bright butterfly;

Oh, he would follow-follow through the sky!
Climbs the gaunt mastiff slumbering in his chain,
And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane;
Then runs, and kneeling by the fountain-side,
Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide,
A dangerous voyage; or, if now he can,

If now he wears the habit of a man,

Flings off the coat so much his pride and pleasure,
And, like a miser digging for his treasure,

His tiny spade in his own garden plies,
And in green letters sees his name arise!

Where'er he goes, for ever in her sight,

She looks, and looks, and still with new delight.

AMELIA OPIE.

THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.

STAY, Lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless Orphan's tale:
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake;
"Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride,

And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died—
And I am now an orphan boy.

Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought,
She could not bear to see my joy;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor orphan boy.

The people's shouts were long and loud,— My mother, shudd'ring, closed her ears; "Rejoice! rejoice!" still cried the crowd,My mother answer'd with her tears. "Why are you crying thus," said I,

"While others laugh and shout with joy?" She kiss'd me-and, with such a sigh! She call'd me her poor orphan boy.

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"What is an orphan boy?" I cried,
As in her face I look'd and smiled;

My mother through her tears replied,
"You'll know too soon, ill-fated child!"
And now they've toll'd my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy,--

O Lady, I have learnt too well

What 'tis to be an orphan boy.

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