Imagens das páginas

The purple heath, and golden broom,

On moory mountains catch the gale,
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,

The violet in the vale ;
But this bold floweret climbs the hill,

Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,

Peeps round the fox's den.
Within the garden's cultured round

It shares the sweet carnation's bed;
And blooms on consecrated ground,

In honour of the dead.
The lambkin crops its crimson gem, [1]

The wild bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue fly bends its pensile [2] stem,

Light o'er the sky-lark's nest.
'Tis Flora's [3] page [4]:-In every place,

In every season, fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial [6] grace,

And blossoms everywhere.
On waste and woodland, rock and plain,

Its humble buds unheeded rise ;
The rose has but a summer reign,
The Daisy never dies.

Montgomery. [1] Gem- the first bud of a flower. [2] Pensile-hanging, bending. [3] Flora—the Goddess of Flowers, [4] Pagean attendant. [5] Perennial- perpetual.

Where the Thracian channel (1) roars
On lordly Europe's eastern shores,
Where the proudly jutting land
Frowns on Asia's western strand,
High on seven hills is seen to shine
The second Rome of Constantine.
Beneath her feet, with graceful pride,
Propontis [2] spreads his ample tide;
His fertile banks profusely pour
Of luscious fruits a varied store;
Rich with a thousand glittering dyes,
His flood a finny shoal supplies ;
While crowding sails on rapid wing
The rifled south's bright treasures bring.
With crescents gleaming to the skies,
Mosques and minarets [8] arise ;
Mounted on whose topmost wall
The turban'd-priests to worship call.
The mournful cypress rises round,
Tap'ring from the burial-ground:
Olympus, ever capp'd with snow,
Crowns the busy scene below.


115.—THE ORPHANS. My chaise the village inn did gain,

Just as the setting sun's last ray [1] Thracian channel, the Straits of Constantinople. [2] Propontis—the Sea of Marmora. [3] Minarets--- high, slender turrets.

Tipped with refulgent gold the vane

Of the old church across the way. Across the way I silent sped,

The time till supper to beguile In moralizing o'er the dead

That mouldered round the ancient pile. There many an humble green grave showed

Where want, and pain, and toil did rest; And many a flattering stone I viewed

O'er those who once had wealth possessed. A faded beech its shadow brown

Threw o'er a grave where sorrow slept, On which, though scarce with grass o’ergrown,

Two ragged children sat and wept... A piece of bread between them lay,

Which neither seemed inclined to take, And yet they looked so much a prey

To want, it made my heart to ache. “ My little children, let me know

Why you in such distress appear, And why you wasteful from you throw

That bread which manya one might cheer?" The little boy, in accents sweet,

Replied, while tears each other chased“ Lady! we've not enough to eat,

Ah! if we had, we should not waste. But sister Mary's naughty grown,

And will not eat, whate'er I say, Though sure I am the bread's her own,

For she has tasted none to day.”

“ Indeed,” the wan, starved Mary said,

“Till Henry eats, I'll eat no more, For yesterday I got some bread,

He's had none since the day before."

My heart did swell, my bosom heave,

I felt as though deprived of speech; Silent I sat upon the grave,

And clasped the clay-cold hand of each.

With looks that told a tale of woe,

With looks that spoke a grateful heart, The shivering boy then nearer drew,

And did his simple tale impart.

“ Before my father went away,

Enticed by bad men o'er the sea, Sister and I did nought but play

We lived beside yon great ash tree.

" But then poor mother did so cry,

And looked so changed, I cannot tell; She told us that she soon should die,

And bade us love each other well.

“ She said that, when the war was o'er,

Perhaps we might our father see; But if we never saw him more,

That God our father then would be !

“ She kissed us both, and then she died,

And we no more a mother have; Here many a day we've sat and cried

Together at poor mother's grave.

“ But when my father came not here,

I thought if we could find the sea, We should be sure to meet him there,

And once again might happy be.

We hand in hand went many a mile,

And asked our way of all we met; And some did sigh, and some did smile,

And we of some did victuals get.

“ But when we reached the sea, and found

'Twas one great water round us spread, We thought that father must be drown'd,

And cried, and wished we both were dead.

“So we returned to mother's grave,

And only long with her to be;
For Goody, when this bread she gave,

Said father died beyond the sea.

." Then since no parent we have here,

We'll go and search for God around; Lady, pray, can you tell us where

That God, our father, may be found ? He lives in Heaven, mother said,

And Goody says that mother's there! So, if she knows we want his aid,

I think perhaps she'll send him here." I clasped the prattlers to my breast,

And cried, “ Come both and live with me, I'll clothe you, feed you, give you rest,

And will a second mother be.

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