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« 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 look'd and smil'd; 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.
You'll give me clothing, food, employ?-
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 yearYet when my friends began to frown,
I but reproach'd tl em with--A TEAR.
I ne'er could frame the harsh reply,
The look unkind by feeling fear’d, E'en when I inet 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 dear But 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
chide me from your door? Ah, no! your looks compassion wearSo large a gift!--Oh! WORDS were poor
I thank, I bless you in—A TEAR
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 recoild, 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.
"O! golden pledge of early love!
“Thou promise of connubial bliss ! “ Upbraid me not!”-she cried—" nor prove
« How ill this soul sustains distress.
“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?
" 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, * 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.
Now dear, belov'et, dishonour'd pledge!
May thee thus on this rude stone, “ That gazers g'er this fearful ridge,
Might learn, from thee, that I am gone !
** 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 ;--
was the ocean-dark the skies !
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!