But cause of tears was rarely found;

For all my heart was youthful glee :
And when the kiss of love went round,
How sweet a kiss there was for me!

But ah! there came a war they say.
What is a war I cannot tell;
But drums and fifes did sweetly play,
And loudly rang our village bell.
In truth it was a pretty sound

I thought, nor could I thence foresce

That when the kiss of love went round,

There soon would be no kiss for me.

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!

Alas! I thought it fine to see;

Nor dreamt that when the kiss went round,

There soon should be no kiss for me..

At length the bell again did ring;
There was a victory, they said;
'Twas what my father said he'd bring;
But ah! it brought my father dead.

My

My mother shriek'd: her heart was woe
She clasp❜d me to her trembling knee..
O God! that you may never know
How wild a kiss she gave to me!

But once again—but once again,
These hips a mother's kisses felt.
That once again--that once again-
The tale a heart of stone would melt-
'Twas when, upon her death-bed laid,
O God! O God! that sight to me!
My child!my child !" she feebly said,
And gave a parting kiss to me.

So now I am an orphan boy,

With nought below my heart to cheer ;:
No mother's love, no father's joy,
Nor kin nor kind to wipe the tear.
My lodging is the cold, cold ground;
I eat the bread of charity;

And when the kiss of love goes round,
There is no kiss of love for me.

THELWALL

The Beggar Man.

AROUND the fire one wintry night
The farmer's rosy children sat;
The faggot lent its blazing light,
And jokes went round and careless chat.

When, hark! a gentle hand they hear
Low tapping at the bolted door,
And thus, to gain their willing ear,
A feeble voice was heard t'implore:

"Cold blows the blast across the moor,
The sleet drives hissing in the wind;
Yon toilsome mountain lies before,
A dreary treeless waste behind.

"

'My eyes are weak and dim with age,
No road, no path, can I descry,
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.

"So faint I am-these tottering feet No more my palsied frame can bear; My freezing heart forgets to beat,

And drifting snows my tomb prepare.

"

Open your hospitable door,
And shield me from the biting blast:
Cold, cold it blows across the moor,
The weary moor that I have pass'd!"

With hasty step the farmer ran,
And close beside the fire they place
poor half-frozen beggar man
With shaking limbs and blue-pale face.

The

The little children flocking came

And chaf'd his frozen hands in theirs,
And busily the good old dame

A comfortable mess prepares.

Their kindness cheer'd his drooping soul,
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek
The big round tears were seen to roll,
And told the thanks he could not speak.

The children too began to sigh,
And all their merry chat was o'er;
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had done before,

The Piedmontese and his Marmot.

FROM my dear native moorlands, for many a day, Thro' fields and thro' cities I've wander'd away. Tho' I merrily sing, yet forlorn is my lot;

I'm a poor

Piedmontese, and I show a marmot. This pretty marmot in a mountain's steep side Made a burrow, himself and his young ones to hide. The bottom they cover'd with moss and with hay, And stopp'd up the entrance, and snugly they lay. They carelessly slept till the cold winter blast, And the hail, and the deep drifting snow-shower was past;

But the warbling of April awak'd them again

To crop the young plants and to frisk on the plain. Then I caught this poor fellow and taught him to dance,

And we liv'd by his tricks as we rambled thro France.

But he droops and grows drowsy as onward we

roam,

And he and his master both pine for their home.
Let your charity then hasten back to his cot,

The

poor Piedmontese with his harmless marmot.