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Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses ;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister ?
Had she a brother ?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun !
Oh! it was pitiful !
Near a whole city fuil,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed :
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence ;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver ;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river :

Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled-
Any where, any where
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran,Over the brink of it, Picture it-think of it, Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently,-kindly,Smooth, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Thro’ muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest. —
Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast.

Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour !

À PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND

FIVE MONTHS.

Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop,-first let me kiss away that tear)

Thou tiny image of myself !
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)

Thou merry, laughing sprite!

With spirits feather-light,
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin-
(Good heavens ! the child is swallowing a pin !)

Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestúck,
Light as the singing bird that wings the air-
(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)

Thou darling of thy sire !
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !)

Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents—(Drat the boy!

There goes my ink !)

Thou cherub—but of earth;
Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,

In harmless sport and mirth,
(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail !)

Thou human humming-bee extracting honey
From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows,

Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunriy,
(Another tumble !—that's his precious nose !)

Thy father's pride and hope ! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint (Where did he learn that squint?)

Thou young domestic dove !
(He'll have that jug off, with another shove !)

Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are those torn clothes his best !)

Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life

(He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being ! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,

Play on, play on,

My elfin John!
Toss the light ball-bestride the stick-
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
With fancies buoyant as the thistle down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,

With many a lamb-like frisk,
(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown !)

Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) Balmy, and breathing music like the South, (He really brings my heart into my mouth !) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,(I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,

(I tell you what, my love, I cannot write, unless he's sent above !)

THE DEATH-BED.

We watched her breathing thro' the night,

Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,

So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers

To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied-
We thought her dying when she slept,

And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sed:

And chill with early showers, Ker quiet eyelids closed-she had

Another morn than ourz.

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