The people's shouts were long and loud,
My mother, shuddering, clos'd her ears; Rejoice! rejoice!' still cried the crowd;
My mother answer'd with her tears. 'Why are you crying thus,' said I,
While others laugh and shout with joy?' She kiss'd me - and with such a sigh! She call'd me her poor orphan boy.
What is an orphan boy?' I cried,
As in her face I look'd, and smil'd;
My mother thro' her tears replied,
'You'll know too soon, ill-fated child!' And now they've toll'd 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.
Lady, you weep! — ha? - this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ?
Look down, dear parents! look, and see
Your happy, happy orphan boy!
Go, youth belov'd, in distant glades,
New friends, new hopes, new joys to find!
Yet sometimes deign, midst fairer maids,
To think on her thou leav'st behind.
Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share
Must never be my happy lot;
But thou mayst grant this humble prayer,
Forget me not, forget me not.
Yet, should the thought of my distress
Too painful to thy feelings be,
Heed not the wish I now express,
Nor ever deign to think on me:
But, oh! if grief thy steps attend,
If want, if sickness be thy lot,
And thou require a soothing friend,
Forget me not! forget me not!
The domestic Group assembled in the evening, rehearse to each other the toils, adventures, visions, and contemplations of the day. Enthusiastic feeling, excited by the simple pathos of artless narrative or unstudied composition-contrasted with the apathy common among those in whom much intercourse with the world has blunted the finer feelings—illustrated by a comparison. Evening worship.
WHEN the declining Sun withdraws his fires,
And slowly from the mountain top retires;
When echoes whisper to the evening gale,
And shadows dim the visionary vale:
When cattle slumber in the peaceful fold,
And clouds in wild fantastic shapes are roll'd;
The scatter'd family delighted meet,
And with complacent smile each other greet.
All day from deep recesses of the woods,
From shelving rocks, or secret winding floods,
Each individual strives to bring a share
To aid their household wants, or help their frugal
The boastful Boy, caught by his feeble hook
Displays the scaly tenants of the brook :
The Goat-herds in their osier baskets bring
The wholesome herbs on airy cliffs that spring;
The alder bark that gives the sable dye,
Or buds of heath that with the saffron vie;
While moss, that wont on aged rocks to grow,
Shall make the various woof with purple glow:
The housewife pleas'd the varied gifts beholds,
While hope anticipates the chequer'd folds;
And colours of the home-made drapery,
Pride of her heart, and pleasure of her eye.
The cumbrous burden see the Father bear,
Of pliant birch, or smooth-grain'd juniper;
To form the roof that shields the humble dome,
"Where every wandering stranger finds a home;"
Or frame the seemly vessels that contain
The milky store which from their flocks they drain ;
For here scarce known the sordid arts of trade,
They seek no gross mechanic's frigid aid :
Tho' mean the dwelling thus uncouthly rear'd,
"Tis still by kindly gratitude endear'd:
While each his neighbour aids with cordial smile,
To build, like labouring ants, the rustic pile,
The household stuff their simple wants demand,
Is fashion'd by the ingenious owner's hand:
The knife, the axe, the auger, and the fire,
The only tools that aid th' inventive sire.
From courtly domes on marble columns borne,
Let not the artist view their works with scorn;
Till he another cot produce to view,
By means as simple, and with tools as few.
The wish'd Repast the weary inmates cheers, And kindness now on every face appears;
Well pleas'd to meet in comfort, and display
The mix'd adventures of the various day.
What bounding deer and fluttering game they
What hunter met them on the moory waste;
What straying cattle from the adjacent strath,
They careful turn'd into the homeward path:
Or tell what rude and new-invented lay,
With soothing cadence lull'd their tedious day :
Th' unearthly voice, deep-sounding thro' the wood,
Or vision wild of mournful solitude,
That brings the long-lost brother back again
From Quebec's gates, or sad Culloden's plain :
By turns in wonder wrapt, or chill'd with fear,
Or sunk in woe, th' attentive audience hear;
And each impression which their words impart,
Sinks with deep interest on the artless heart:
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