On the Death of an Infant. When joy from out the daisies grew, In woodland pastures green, And summer skies were far more blue Now autumn's pensive voice is heard The robin is the regal bird, And thou the Queen of Flowers! And Araby ne'er gave the breeze Rich is the pink, the lily gay, The rose is summer's guest; But, wallflower, loved wallflower, 213 On the Death of an Infant. WITH BY MISS JANE TAYLOR. what unknown delight the mother smiled, When this frail treasure in her arms she press'd! Her prayer was heard—she clasp'd a living child; But how the gift transcends the poor request ! A child was all she ask'd, with many a vow: Mother-behold the child an angel now! Now in her Father's house she finds a place ; To guide thy footsteps to the world of lightA ministering spirit sent to thee, That where she is, there thou may'st also be. A The Orphan Boy. BY JOHN THELWALL. LAS! I am an orphan boy, With nought on earth to cheer my heart: No father's love, no mother's joy, Nor kin nor kind to take my part. My lodging is the cold, cold ground; And, when the kiss of love goes round, Yet once I had a father dear, How sweet a kiss there was for me! The Orphan Boy. But, ah! there came a war, they say— But drums and fifes did sweetly play, I thought, nor could I thence foresee A scarlet coat my father took, And sword, as bright as bright could be, And feathers that so gaily look, All in a shining cap had he. Then how my little heart did bound ; Nor dreamt that, when the kiss went round, My mother sigh'd, my mother wept, Then gives a kiss to all around; But when I found he rode so far, And came not home as heretofore, I said it was a naughty war, And loved the fife and drum no more. 215 At length the bell again did ring ; But once again—but once again 66 So now I am an orphan boy, With nought below my heart to cheer: And when the kiss of love goes round, But I will to the grave and weep, Where late they laid my mother low, And buried her with earth so deep, All in her shroud as white as snow. And there I'll call on her so loud, All underneath the churchyard tree, To wrap me in her snow-white shroud, For those cold lips are dear to me. Queen Mary's Lament for Calais. 217 Queen Mary's Lament for Calais. PON the winds-upon the waves UPON There comes a voice of fear; The tenants of a thousand graves Are screaming in my ear; They come from ocean and from plain, Beneath the walls they are in vain With me to wail and weep: The Frenchmen's shouts of triumph swell, Pale mourners of her child's disgrace, Leading the kings of Edward's race Well, royal spectre, may'st thou frown- My doom is seal'd-I cannot be There came a fiend—with withering breath Of blights on England's rosy wreath, Of scorn on Mary's name. The word of Calais on my heart He traced as with a fiery dart; And as the letters grew, More slowly roll'd the sanguine tide, |