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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;
No cloak nor hat her small soft arms

And wind-blown curls to cover.
Her dimpled face was stained with tears;

Her round blue eyes ran over;
She cherished in her wee, cold hand

A bunch of faded clover.

66

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.

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“He came and played at Milly's steps,

The monkey took the money,
And so I followed down the street,

The monkey was so funny !
I've walked about a hundred hours,

From one street to another;
The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers ;

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.
I tied a kerchief round her neck -

“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;
For mother says she's very sure

I would get lost without it.”

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ABOU BEN ADHEM.

LEIGH HUNT.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And, to the presence in the room, he said,
“What writest thou ?” The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord !”
66 And is mine one ?asked Abou. “ Nay, not so,
Replied the angel. Abou spake more low,
But cheerly still ; and said — “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.'
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest;
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

THE PARROT.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

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,
And turned on rocks and raging surf

His golden eye.
But petted in our climate cold,

He lived and chattered many a day:
Until with age, from green and gold

His wings grew gray.
At last when blind, and seeming dumb,

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.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

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 eyes were fair, and very fair ; -

Her beauty made me glad.
“Sisters and brothers, little maid,

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 ;
And in the churchyard cottage, I

Dwell near them with my mother."

“ You say that two at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,

Sweet maid, how this may be ?”

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