44

THE LOVELY CHILD.

But no, not one word, not one murmuring sigh, Not one tear trickled down from the poor mother's eye;

But, fainting, she fell on the strand.

O, I've witness'd this fond mother's grief and dis.

may;

I have witness'd her anguish of heart;

O, I've witness'd the tears which so sadly would

roll;

And I've witness'd the conflicts which harrow'd her soul;

And I've witness'd her agoniz'd start!

And I've pointed to heaven, and told her so oft That angels would watch o'er her child. "O! tell me my child is with God!" she has said; "Do tell me, my friend, do, O tell me he's dead, And then I will be reconcil'd!

"If my baby had died," she would calmly exclaim,

"Could I see him but plac'd near his God, Had I sat by his bed, and receiv'd his last sighs, Or kiss'd his cold forehead, or clos'd his sweet

eyes,

Or fix'd on his green grave the sod

"O then would submission, by time pointed out, The poor mother's heart reconcile.

But Oh! when I look at our hearts' dearest joy, My darling! my treasure! my own baby boy! In the hands of those savages vile

"My heart gets distracted, my brain gets on fire, And comfort and peace are no more.

Have pity, my friend, for my sorrow is deep:
Yes! Heaven has caus'd me to bitterly weep;
And Heaven alone can restore."

Days now have pass'd by, even years have roll'd on,

And still every search has been vain.

God help thee, poor mother! thou mother of woe! God help thee indeed! for thou never, O no, Thou wilt ne'er see thy baby again!

THE CHILD AND THE SWAN.

A true Story.

IN passing, this morning, Lord Elville's demesne,
The trees which hang over the ponds
Attracted my notice: admiring, I stopp'd,
When, suddenly, out from the rushes there popp'd
Two beautiful lily-white swans.

Sometimes they would sail by the light willow trees
Which shadow Lord Elville's new bowers;

46

THE CHILD AND THE SWAN.

Then gracefully float all around the green isle;
Then stop, and get up on the bank for awhile,
To nibble the grass and the flowers.

Lord Elville came up at the moment, and said, "I see you're admiring those swans :

I love them as friends; believe now my words, For strange you may think, yet to one of those birds

A very sweet story belongs.

"One day, I was hunting in Rockingham Wood, Just passing the opposite rock;

When lo! on the pond I observ'd the large swan
Slow dragging our sweet little Arthur along,
And holding him up by the frock!

“The child had dropp'd into the water and sunk, And then the next moment arose ;

The swan saw the movement, and, hastening o'er, Seiz'd fast in her bill the child's white pinafore, And then caught the rest of his clothes.

"And thus, in great triumph, she bore him to land, Preventing the child being drown'd;

And, leaving him up on the bank, she sail'd on, Quite pleas'd and delighted with what she had

done,

And looking so proudly around.

"Believe me, dear Sir, I can't tell you the love That I feel for this generous swan :

O long may she live in those ponds and those

streams,

And long may she bask in the summer's bright beams,

And skim the green rushes along!"

THE PIGEON.

Coo, my pigeon! coo away!
Pluck the wheat, and sip the dew;
Sure no music's half so sweet
As my little Tommy's coo.

Pretty Tom, with graceful air,
Plumage all of snowy hue;
Sweeter than the softest notes
Is my little Tommy's coo.

Mary thinks she sings so well,
So do Kate and Ellen too.
Hoot away! pray is their song
Half so sweet as Tommy's coo?

Kate was reading out, last night,
Thomson's Seasons, gilt and new:

48

THE CHILD AND BURNT STICK.

Much he talks of rural sounds—
Are they like my Tommy's coo?

Ellen says her harp is sweet,
And I know 'tis very true:
But do give me leave me to ask,
Is it like my Tommy's coo?

Tom, in naughty fit, last night,
Left me-o'er the woods he flew :
Soon I trac'd his hiding-place,
By his pretty little coo.

Should my pigeon fly away,

I should know not what to do;
Every thing would seem so dull,
When compar❜d to Tommy's coo.

THE CHILD AND BURNT STICK.

A Fact; taken from a Paragraph in a late Irish Gazette.

AH! what makes the family all look so sad?
And what makes Miss Emily cry?

And what made the nurse, and the butler, and all,
Last night, as I pass'd up the stairs in the hall,

Hang their heads down, and bitterly sigh?