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With his father's sword in his red right hand,

And the hostile dead around him, Lay a youthful Chief; but his bed was the ground,

And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.

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He loosed his hold, and his swelling heart

Took part with the dead before him ; And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand

As with softened brow he leaned o'er him.

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“No loving smile awaits me now,

O holy Christ and dear;
Except Thou love me, only Thou,

I am forgotten here."

He spoke, when lo, with wand of light

And voice how heavenly sweet, Another child, all robed in white,

Came gliding up the street.

“The holy Christ,” He said, “am I,

A child like unto thee;
If all forget and pass thee by,

Thou’rt not forgot by Me.”

“And I Myself for thee will raise

A tree so full of light,
That those in yonder halls which blaze

Shall seem to fade from sight.”

While yet He speaks, from earth to sky

A golden tree had sprung, With stars in clust‘ring radiancy

Amid its branches hung.

How near and yet how far it seemed,

How bathed in floods of light !
The child stood near and thought he dream'd,

It looked so wondrous bright.

He thought he dreamed, while from above

The angels o,er him smiled,
And gently stretched their arms in love

Towards the stranger child.

They lift, they bear him from the ground,

Up trrough the shining space; And now the outcast one has found

With Christ his resting place.



NDROCLES, from his injured lord in dread

Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled ;
Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with heat,
He spied, at length, a cavern's cool retreat;
But scarce had given to rest his weary frame,
When, hugest of his kind, a liọn came :
He roar'd, approaching: but the savage din
The plaintive murmurs changed, arrived within;
And with expressive looks, his lifted paw
Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw.

The fugitive, through terror at a stand,
Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand ;
But bolder grown, at length inherent found
A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound.
The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious blood,
And firm and free from pain the lion stood.
Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day
Regales his inmate with the parted prey.
Nor he disdains the dol-, though unprepared,
Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared.
But this to live-still lost-sequester'd still-
Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill.
Home ! native home! O might he but repair !
He must—he will—though death attends him there.
He goes, and doom'd to perish, on the sands
Of the full theatre unpitied stands ;
When lo! the self-same lion from his cage
Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage.
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey
The man, his healer, pauses on his way,
And soften'd by remembrance into sweet
And kind composure, crouches at his feet.

Mute with asthonishment the assembly gaze:
But why, ye Romans? Whence your mute amaze ?
All this is natural : Nature bade him rend
An enemy; she bids him spare a friend.



ESIDE the church door, a-weary and alone,

A blind women sat on the cold door-stone, The wind was bitter, the snow fell fast, And a mocking voice in the fitful blast Seemed ever to echo the morning cry, As she begged an alms of the passers-by, “Have pity on me, have pity, I pray ; My back is bent, and my hair is gray.'

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The bells were ringing the hour of prayer,
And many good people were gathered there ;
But covered with furs and mantles warm,
They hurried past through the wintry storm.

Some were hoping their souls to save,
And some were thinking of death and the grave,
And, alas! they had no time to heed
The poor soul asking for charity's meed ;
And some were blooming with beauty's grace,
But closely muffled in veils of lace;
They saw not the sorrow, nor heard the mean
Of her who sat on the cold door-stone.


At last came one of noble name,
By the city counted the wealthiest dame,
And the pearls that o'er her neck were strung,
She proudly there to the beggar flung.
Then followed a maiden, young and fair,
Adorned with clusters of golden hair ;
But her dress was thin, and scanty, and worn,
Not even the beggar's seemed more forlorn ;
With a tearful look and a pitying sigh,
She whispered soft, No jewels have I,
But I give you my prayers, good friend,” said she,
“And sure, I know God listens to me.''

On the poor white hand, so shrunken and small,
The blind woman let a tear-drop fall,
Then kissed it, and said to the weeping girl,
“It is you who have given the purest pearl."

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N slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,

And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sideways half covered with flowers,

And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,

And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a fond kiss unite

With the lips of the sister his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;

Joy quickens his pulses,--his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,

"O God! thou hast blest me,-I ask for no more."

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