NO HOME for them—that magic word Which, fraught with love, and joy, and rest, Whenever and wherever heard, Unseals pure fountains in the breast, They sought a strange and wintry shore, Oh, man, boast not thy "lion heart! Fail in the deepest hour of need?" To save her little ones that sleep, She bares her bosom to the steel! Daughters of those, who, long ago, THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. C. B. SOUTHEY. TREAD Softly-bow the head; No passing bell doth toll, Is passing now. Oh! change!-Oh! wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars This moment there, so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars! 'Oh! change-stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod! The Sun eternal breaks. The new immortal wakes Wakes with his God! ALBUQUERQUE. R. DAWES. A STORM was on the deep; The འག very hoses knew his weight, And wished his box a Christmas-box, Alas! against the shafts of love What armor can avail? Soon Cupid sent an arrow through His scarlet coat of mail. The bar-maid of "The Crown" he loved, He thought her fairest of all fares, And often, among twelve outsides, One day, as she was sitting down He came and knelt, with all his fat, Said she, "My taste will never learn So I must beg you will come here But still he stoutly urged his suit, In vain he wooed in vain he sued. The maid was cold and proud, And sent him off to Coventry, 168 He fretted all the way to Stroud, At last, her coldness made him pine "O, Mary! view my wasted back, Alas! in vain he still assailed, Worn out, at last he made a vow, Now, some will talk in water's praise, But John, though he drank nothing else, The cruel maid, that caused his love, For, looking in the butt, she saw The butt end of his woes. Some say his spirit haunts the Crown; But that is only talk; For, after riding all his life, His ghost objects to walk. THE POLISH EXILES. MISS PARDOE. FORTH Went they from their fatherland, Forth went they;-not as freemen go, The aged in their silver hair, The young in manhood's might, No sounds disturbed the desert air, Save when, at times, reëchoed there When hark! another cry pealed out- Answered and heightened by the shout "T was childhood's voice! but, ah! how wild, How demon-like, its swell! The mother shrieked to hear her child And fathers wrung their fettered hands While shouted out their infant bands, And curses deep and low were said, Whose murmurs reached to heaven; Thick sighs were heaved, hot tears were shed, And women's hearts were riven, As, heedless of their present woes, The children onward trod, And sang; and their young A vengeance cry to God! voices rose |