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« Why are you crying thus;" said I,

" While others laugh and shout with joy?” She kissed memand, with such a sigh!

She called me her poor ORPHAN BOY.

• What is an Orphan Boy?" I cried,

As in her face I look'd and smild; 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.

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THE CHILD OF SORROW'S TALE.

Deny, but do not taunt a maid

Who never scorn, with scorn repays; Proud man, though now I ask your aid,

Mine once, alas! were happier days. But sorrow mark'd me for her own

Before I told my twentieth year Yet when my friends began to frown,

I but reproach'd tlem with - A TEAR.

I ne'er could frame the harsh reply,

The look ankind by feeling fear'd,
E’en when I net disdain's cold eye,

E’en when I cruel language heard.
I've seen my friend, my earliest friend,

Refuse my tale of woe to hear;
Yet still unwilling to offend,

All my remembrance was-- A TEAR.

And I have known the slanderer's tongue

My fame with vile dishonour taint, Yet on my lips, no curses hung,

Though mournful, mild was my complaint. And I was forc'd by cruel power

To leave the scenes I held most dear; 0! 'twas indeed a trying hour!

Yet all my language was-A TEAR.

And I bave known the youth I lov'd

Retract the vows he swore to me, Behold my pallid cheek unmov'd,

And smiling boast that he was free! Yet I was calm—and (hour of dread!)

I saw him woo a maid more dearBut I was mute, I only shed

No-no;-I could not shed a—TEAR.

Ah! full was then my cup of grief

Friends, fortune, lover, fame, all lost-
A beggar now, I ask relief,

A small, a trifling, boon at most.
Still can you chide me from your door?

Ah, no! your looks compassion wear-
So large a gift!-Oh! WORDS were poor

I thank, I bless you in-A TEAR

THE RING.

The sea-gull wheel'd in circles low,

And, screaming, skimm’d the wintry tide; The evening blast began to blow,

Up the steep clift's rifted side.

In broken foam, the white surge drove,

And back recoil'd, with rushing sound; When on the precipice above,

With haggard eyes, and locks unbound,

Stood MARY_once the fairest maid

And chastest wife on Cornwall's shore, Till lost her spouse—herself betray'd,

And fair, and virtuous, now no more !

Down on the crumbling rock she kneelid,

O'er which the waving samphire grew; And, while her aching bosom swellid,

Her Ring she from her finger drew.

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“ Whene'er thy glittering form I view,

My heart reproaches me and cries “ Could'st thou forget a spouse so true,

• Who first conferr'd this hallow'd prize?

s And ere soft April's dewy hand

“Had twice bestrew'd with flow'rs his grave “ Submit thee to seduction's bland

“ The dupe of vice, and passion's slave!

** Accurst by heav'n, and woman kind,

“For ever be that traitor vite, So Who turn'd from innocence my mind,

“ And dar'd my easy faith beguile!

O! golden pledge of happier times!

“ Thou promise sweet of wedded bliss **No more reproach me with my crimes,

“ Nor aggravate my soul's distress!

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«« Here witness thou how many fell,

“ To expiate her foul disgrace; * And soon to her Betrayer tell

“ The tale that time shall ne'er efface !"

She clasp'd her hands—she rais'd her eyes,

In bitterest anguish of despair ; Wild was the ocean-dark the skies !

No hope remain'd-no help was near!

Down-down she plung'd--the dashing wave

Receiv'd her on its murinuring breast; And, rolling back, the gulphy grave

Compos'd her struggling heart to rest!

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