76

A DIRGE.

O ye strong Norwegian gallants,
Go seek for my lovely lover,
And bring him to ring my finger
With the round hoop of gold!

But the brave Norwegian gallants
They laughed at the cruel maiden,
And left her sitting in sorrow,

Till her heart and her face grew old;
While she moaned of the cave of silver,
And moaned of the wild Lapp mountains,
And him who never will ring her

With the round hoop of gold!

FITZ-JAMES O'BRIEN.

A DIRGE

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover

The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,

And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harın;

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,

For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

JOHN WEBSTER.

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.

My life is like the summer rose

That opens to the morning sky,
But, ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground-to die;
Yet on the rose's humble bed

The sweetest dews of night are shed.
As if she wept the waste to see.
But none shail weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail, its date is brief:

My life is like the prints which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand:

Soon as the rising tide shall beat,

All trace will vanish from the sand;

Yet, as if grieving to efface

All vestige of the human race,

On that lone shore loud moans the sea.
But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

RICHARD HENRY WILDE.

AN orphan boy, with weary feet,

On Christmas Eve, alone, benighted, Went through the town from street to street,

To see the clustering candles lighted In homes where happy children meet.

Before each house he stood, to mark
The pleasant rooms that shone so fairly;
The tapers lighted, spark by spark,

Till all the trees were blazing rarely;
And sad his heart was, in the dark.

He wept; he clasped his hands and cried:

66

Ah, every child to-night rejoices;

Their Christmas presents all divide,

Around their trees, with merry voices;

But Christmas is to me denied.

"Once with my sister, hand in hand,

At home, how did my tree delight me!

No other tapers shone so grand;

But all forget me, none invite me,

Here, lonely, in the stranger's land.

"Will no one let me in, to share

The light,
to take some corner nigh it?
In all these houses can't they spare
A spot where I may sit in quiet-
A little seat among them there?

80

THE ORPHAN'S CHRISTMAS-TREE.

"Will no one let me in to-night?
I will not beg for gift or token ;
I only ask to see the sight

And hear the thanks of others spoken,
And that will be my own delight."

He knocked at every door and gate;
He rapped at window-pane and shutter;
But no one heard and bade him wait,

Or came, the "Welcome in!" to utter:
Their ears were dull to outer fate.

Each father looked with eyes that smiled,
Upon his happy children only:
Their gifts the mother's heart beguiled
To think of them: none saw the lonely
Forgotten boy, the orphan child.

"O Christ-child, holy, kind, and dear!
I have no father and no mother,
Nor friend save thee, to give me cheer.

Be thou my help, there is none other,
Since all forget me, wandering here!"

The poor boy rubbed his hands so blue,
His little hands, the frost made chilly;
His tattered clothes he closer drew

And crouched within a corner stilly,
And prayed, and knew not what to do.