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Not blither is the mountain roe;
With many a wanton stroke
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time;
She wandered up and down ; And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide ;
To serve them for a guide,
At daybreak on a hill they stood,
That overlooked the moor ; And thence they saw the bridge of wood
A furlong from their door.
They wept, and, turning homeward, cried,
In heaven we all shall meet !! When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downward from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone wall;
And then an open field they crossed
The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost,
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank ;
And further there were none !
Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
NAVAL OD E.1
Your glorious standard launch again,
THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.
1 This is perhaps the finest war-song i race of sailors of whom Nelson is
in the English language. It was the type, whose one watchword composed when a war with Russia is Duty' (Smith's History of seemed ready to break out. The England). Blake died within patriotic feeling that breathed sight of his native shores, 1657. throughout it and The Battle of | Nelson died in the hour of victory, the Baltic, procured for Campbell at Trafalgar, Oct. 21, 1805. a pension of £200 a year.
8 Balwarks, defences, fortifications. 2 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell. 4 Steep, the precipitous cliffs that border
'Blake was the first of that noble 1. the shores.
THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.
And hear a helpless orphan's tale ;
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
And my brave father's hope and joy ;
And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
And see the lighted windows flame !
She could not bear to see my joy,
And made me a poor orphan boy.
The people's shouts were long and loud
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ;
My mother answered with her tears.
Cried I, 'while others shout for joy ?'
She called me her poor orphan boy.
• What is an orphan boy ?' I said,
When suddenly she gasped for breath,
But ah ! her eyes were closed in death!
But now no more a parent's joy-
What 'tis to be an orphan boy!
Oh, were I by your bounty fed !
Nay, gentle lady ! do not chide ;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride.
You 'll give me clothing, food, employ?
1 The Nile's proud fight. The battle of
Aboukir Bay, fought on Aug. 1, 1 1798, where the British fleet under
Nelson entirely destroyed the
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.1
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast;
Their giant branches tossed ;
The hills and waters o'er,
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;