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'Shivering! Hark! he mutters Brokenly now that was a difficult breath Another? Wilt thou never come, O Death ?
Look! how his temple flutters ! Is his heart still ? Aha! lift up his head ! He shudders-gasps-Jove, help him !--so-he's dead.”
How like a mounting devil in the heart
Must canker in its coffers -- if the links
THE ORPHAN BOY.
BY MRS. OPIE.
STAY, Lady, stay for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale !
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
And my brave father's hope and joy ;
And I am now an Orphan Boy.
When news of Nelson's victory came,
And see the lighted windows flame !
She could not bear to see my joy,
And made me a poor Orphan Boy.
The people's shouts were long and loud ;
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears : Rejoice! rejoice !” still cried the crowd ;
My mother answered with her tears. “Why are you crying thus,” said I,
“While others laugh and shout with joy ?" She kissed me, and with such a sigh,
She called me her poor Orphan Boy.
“What is an orphan boy ?" I cried,
As in her face I looked, and smiled ;
“You'll know too soon, ill-fated child !” And now they've tolled my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy ;
What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy.
Oh! were I by your bounty fed —
Nay, gentle lady, do not chide ;
I mean to earn my bread;
You'll give me clothing, food, employ?
Your happy, happy Orphan Boy.
THE FALCON'S REWARD.
BENEATH the fiery cope of middle day
The youthful Prince his train left all behind, With eager ken gazed round him every way,
If springing well he anywhere might find.
His favourite falcon, from long aëry flight
Returning, and from quarry struck at last, Told of the chase, which with its keen delight
Had thus allured him on so far and fast,
Till gladly he had welcomed in his drought
The dullest pool that gathered in the rain ; But such, in fount of clearer wave, he sought
Long through that land of barrenness in vain.
What pleasure when, slow stealing o'er a rock,
He spied the glittering of a little rill, Which yet, as if his burning thirst to mock,
Did its rare treasures drop by drop distil ! A golden goblet from his saddle-bow
He loosed, and from his steed alighted down To wait until that fountain, trickling slow,
Shall in the end his golden goblet crown.
When set beside the promise of that draught,
How poor had seemed to him the costliest wine, That ever with its beaded bubbles laughed,
When set beside that nectar more divine.
The brimming vessel to his lips at last
He raised, when, lo! the falcon on his hand, With beak’s and pinion's sudden impulse, cast
That cup's rare treasure all upon the sand.
Long was it ere that fountain, pulsing slow,
Caused once again that chalice to run o'er ; When, thinking no like hindrance now to know,
He raised it to his parched lips once more :
Once more, as if to cross his purpose bent,
The watchful bird—as if on this one thing, That drink he should not of that stream, intent
Struck from his hand the cup with eager wing.
But when this new defeat his purpose found,
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay:
the ground, Before her master's feet in death she lay:
And he, twice baffled, did meantime again
From that scant rill to slake his thirst prepare ; When, down the crags descending, of his train
One cried, “O Monarch, for thy life forbear !
“ Coiled in these waters at their fountain-head,
And causing them so feebly to distil,
And doth with venom all the streamlet fill."
Dropped from his hand the cup :-one look he cast
Upon the faithful bird before his feet, Whose dying struggles now were almost past,
For whom a better guardian had been meet ; Then homeward rode in silence many a mile;
But if such thoughts did in his bosom grow, As did in mine the painfulness beguile,
Of that his falcon's end, what man can know?
I said, “Such chalices the world fills up
For us, and bright and without bale they seemA sparkling potion in a jewelled cup,
Nor know we drawn from what infected stream.
“Our spirit's thirst they promise to assuage,
And we those cups unto our death had quaffed, If Heaven did not in dearest love engage
To dash the chalice down, and mar the draught.
“Alas for us, if we that love are fain
With wrath and blind impatience to repay, Which nothing but our weakness doth restrain,
As he repaid his faithful bird that day;