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And hopelessly and aimlessly
The scared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the sighing wind,
I heard a small voice crying.
And shivering on the corner stood
A child of four or over;
And wind-blown curls to cover.
Her round blue eyes ran over;
A bunch of faded clover.
And, one hand round her treasure, while
She slipped in mine the other, Half-scared, half-confidential, said,
Oh, please, I want my mother!” “Tell me your street and number, pet ;
Don't cry, I'll take you to it.” Sobbing, she answered, “I forget –
The organ made me do it.
“He came and played at Milly's steps,
The monkey took the money,
The monkey was so funny !
From one street to another;
Oh, please, I want my mother!”
“But, what's your mother's name, and what
The street ? Now think a minute." “My mother's name is · Mamma dear';
The street — I can't begin it.” “But what is strange about the house,
Or new, not like the others ?” “I guess you mean my trundle-bed,
Mine and my little brother's.
Oh, dear! I ought to be at home,
To help him say his prayers, He's such a baby, he forgets,
And we are both such players And there's a bar between to, keep
From pitching on each other, For Harry rolls when he's asleep.
Oh, dear! I want my mother.”
The sky grew stormy; people passed
All muffled, homeward faring; “You'll have to spend the night with me,”
I said at last, despairing.
“What ribbon's this, my blossom ?” “Why, don't you know?” she smiling asked,
And drew it from her bosom.
A card with number, street, and name!
My eyes astonished met it; “For," said the little one, “you see
I might sometime forget it ;
And so I wear a little thing,
That tells you all about it;
I would get lost without it.”
ABOU BEN ADHEM.
ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !)
A PARROT, from the Spanish main,
Full young and early caged came o'er, With bright wings, to the bleak domain
Of Mulla's shore.
To spicy groves where he had won
His plumage of resplendent hue, His native fruits, and skies, and sun,
He bade adieu.
For these he changed the smoke of turf,
A heathery land and misty sky,
His golden eye.
He lived and chattered many a day:
His wings grew gray.
He scolded, laugh’d, and spoke no more, A Spanish stranger chanced to come
To Mulla's shore.
He hailed the bird in Spanish speech,
The bird in Spanish speech replied ; Flapped round the cage with joyous screech,
Dropt down, and died.
WE ARE SEVEN.
I MET a little cottage girl:
She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad;
Her beauty made me glad.
How many may you be ?” “How many ? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me. “And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
6 Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother ;
Dwell near them with my mother."
“ You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Sweet maid, how this may be ?”