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THE ORPHAN BOY.

Alas! I am an orphan boy,

With nought on earth to cheer my heart; No father's love, 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 kiss 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 rang our village bell.
In truth, it was a pretty sound,

I thought; nor could I thence foresee That when the kiss of love went round,

There soon would 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 would be no kiss for me.

My mother sigh’d, my mother wept

My father talk'd of wealth and fame :
But still she wept, and sigh’d 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 back as heretofore, I said it was a naughty war,

And loved the fife and drum no more.
My mother oft in tears was drown'd,

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 father - dead ! My mother shriek’d — her heart was wo;

She clasp'd me trembling to her knee : And O! 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

(0, what a sight was that to see !) “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; 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!

THELWAL.

THE LAND OF MY BIRTH.

OLD ENGLAND for ever!

No power shall sever
My heart from the land of my birth;

'Tis the land of the brave,

Which none can enslave, 'Tis the happiest land upon earth !

'Tis the land of the free —

So it ever shall be,
Her children no fetters can bind :

Ere Britons are slaves

She shall sink in the waves,
And leave not a vestige behind.

If the African stand

But once on her strand,
That moment, his shackles are broke;

A captive no more,

He leaps on her shore,
And shakes from his shoulders the yoke.

'Tis the land of the Brave

And the patriot's grave,
And heroes, and sages of old;

We hallow their dust,

And esteem it a trust,
More precious than jewels or gold.

'Tis the land of the Fair,

And beauty is there,
And the gladness that woman bestows;

When the circle is bright,

With the heart-cheering light,
From the eye of affection that flows.

'Tis the land of the Wise,

With the glorious prize
Of genius her temples are bound;

And she beams from afar,

Like a bright morning star,
To give light to all nations around.

Hail, land of my birth,

Brightest spot upon earth !
Shall I leave thee for others ? — No, never !

Where'er I may roam,

Still thou art my home,
Old England, my country, for ever!

RAFFLES.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A LAST CHILD.

FAREWELL, my young blossom !

The fairest, the fleetest,
The pride of my bosom
The last and the sweetest.

On thee my heart centred

All hopes earth could cherish; The spoiler hath entered

And thou too must perish!

I see thy bloom wasting,

And cannot restore it; The end now is hasting

'Tis vain to deplore it. Could prayers detain thee

As pale thou art lying ; I would not enchain thee

To live ever dying:

To linger, to languish

That life may be sorrow! Thro’ the night pain and anguish ;

No rest on the morrow! Oh soon may deep slumber

In mercy steal o'er thee; Earth can but encumber,

And heav'n is before thee.

Oh loveliest! Oh dearest !

When anguish oppress'd thee My arm still was nearest,

My prayer still hath bless’d thee; But now all is ended

How welcome that sighing ! My prayer hath ascended !

'Tis heard — she is dying !

My God! I adore thee !

Receive the freed spirit In gladness before thee

A crown to inherit.

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