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THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.
1 This is perhaps the finest war-song
in the English language. It was composed when a war with Russia seemed ready to break out. The patriotic feeling that breathed throughout it and The Battle of the Baltic, procured for Campbell
a pension of £200 a year. ? Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell.
Blake was the first of that noble
race of sailors of whom Nelson is the type, whose one watchword is Duty' (Smith's History of England). Blake died within sight of his native shores, 1657. Nelson died in the hour of victory,
at Trafalgar, Oct. 21, 1805. 8 Bulwarks, defences, fortifications. 4 Steep, the precipitous cliffs that border
THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE.
Stay, lady! stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale ; Ah! sure my looks must pity wake'Tis want that makes my
cheek so pale.
And my brave father's hope and joy ;
And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
And see the lighted windows flame !
She could not bear to see my joy,
And made me a poor orphan boy.
The people's shouts were long and loud
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ;
My mother answered with her tears.
Cried I, 'while others shout for joy ?'
She called me her poor orphan boy.
• What is an orphan boy ?' I said,
When suddenly she gasped for breath,
But ah! her eyes were closed in death!
But now no more a parent's joy-
What 'tis to be an orphan boy!
Oh, were I by your bounty fed !
Nay, gentle lady ! do not chide ;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride.
You 'll give me clothing, food, employ ?
1 The Nile's proud fight. The battle of
Aboukir Bay, fought on Aug. 1, 1798, where the British fleet under
Nelson entirely destroyed the
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.I
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast;
Their giant branches tossed ;
The hills and waters o'er,
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
With their hymns of lofty cheer.'
Amidst the storm they sang :
This the stars heard, and the sea;
To the anthem of the free.
From his nest by the white wave's foam,
Such was their welcome home.
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band :
Away from their childhood's land ?
Lit by her deep love's truth;
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar ?
Bright jewels of the mine?
No_twas a faith's pure shrine.
Which first their brave feet trod !
1 The Pilgrim Fathers. During the per
secution of the Puritans by James I., several sought refuge in Holland, but they felt as strangers and exiles, and longed for a land of their own. Many of them embarked for America in order to plant there a new colony. They
sailed in the Mayflower, and after great privations by sea and land, during which their faith in God was never shaken, they succeeded in establishing themselves in the
New World. 2 Aisles, avenues.
‘Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheugh,
Nor tempt the stormy firth 1 to-day. “The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch 2 and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water Sprite, 3
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. Last night the gifted seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheugh:
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?'
''Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball ;
Sits lonely in her castle hall
"'Tis not because the ring they ride
And Lindesay at the ring rides well ;
If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle.'
O’er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 4 'Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.
It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,
And seen from caverned Hawthornden.
Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie ;
Sheathed in his iron panoply.5
Seemed all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ;
And glimmered all the dead men's mail.
Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fairSo still they blaze when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St Clair.?
There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !