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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;
My mother through her tears replied,
"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 ;

O lady—I have learnt too well
What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy.

Oh! were I by your bounty fed—
Nay, gentle lady, do not chide;
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride.
Lady, you weep!-Ha!-this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ ?
Look down, dear parents! look and see
Your happy, happy Orphan Boy.

THE FALCON'S REWARD.

BY TRENCH.

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, intentStruck from his hand the cup with eager wing.

But when this new defeat his purpose found,
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay :
Hurled down with angry force upon 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,
A poisonous snake of hugest growth lies dead,
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;

If an indignant eye we lift above,

To lose some sparkling goblet ill content, Which, but for that keen watchfulness of love, Swift certain poison through our veins had sent."

THE UNCLE.

BY H. G. BELL.

I HAD an uncle once-a man

Of threescore years and three ;—
And when my reason's dawn began,
He'd take me on his knee;
And often talk, whole winter nights,
Things that seemed strange to me.

He was a man of gloomy mood,
And few his converse sought;
But, it was said, in solitude

His conscience with him wrought;
And there, before his mental eye,
Some hideous vision brought.

There was not one in all the house
Who did not fear his frown,
Save I, a little careless child,
Who gambolled up and down,
And often peeped into his room,
And plucked him by the gown.

I was an orphan and alone,-
My father was his brother,
And all their lives I knew that they
Had fondly loved each other;

And in my uncle's room there hung
mother.

The picture of my

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The words upon the book;

For with a sidelong glance I marked My uncle's fearful look.

And saw how all his quivering frame
In strong convulsions shook.

A silent terror o'er me stole,
A strange, unusual dread;

His lips were white as bone-his eyes
Sunk far down in his head;

He gazed on me, but 'twas the gaze
Of the unconscious dead.

Then suddenly he turned him round,
And drew aside the veil

That hung before my mother's face ;—

Perchance my eyes might fail,

But ne'er before that face to me
Had seemed so ghastly pale.

"Come hither, boy!" my uncle said,I started at the sound;

'Twas choked and stifled in his throat, And hardly utterance found :"Come hither, boy!" then fearfully He cast his eyes around.

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