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With a shriek-on the floor the young gipsy-girl fell; Help," cried Susan, "your child to uprear! Your long stolen child!-she remembers you well, And the terrors and joys in her bosom which swell, Are too mighty for nature to bear!"

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Oh! heard you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
"Tis the chief of Glenara, laments for his dear;
And her sire and her people are called to her bier.

Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud ;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud;
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They marched all in silence-they looked to the ground.

In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
"Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn;-
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain: no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed.

"I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween; When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen: Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn.

"I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief, I dreamed that her lord was a barbarous chief; On the rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert revealed where his lady was found:
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ;
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn.

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8. THE ORPHAN'S DREAM.-Anonymous.

Bereft of his kindred, Mohanoe had strayed

To a land among strangers, far, far from his isle; O'erwhelming misfortune in ruins had laid

Each heart-cheering prospect that once could beguile.:

One son, an affectionate darling, remained,

To soothe his afflictions, his perils to share;
But scarce had Mohanoe the foreign shore gained,
When he sunk to the grave, by the stroke of despair.

All cheerless and lone was the orphan-boy left,
No friends to protect him, or lighten his wo;
Of every dear joy was his bosom bereft,
And agonized memory hung on his brow.

'Twas night—and the orphan-boy sunk to repose;
On the tomb of his father the weary one slept :
Yet bright were the visions that round him arose,
And he smiled o'er the pillow where late he had wept.

He thought of those days, when, a stranger to care, Through his dear native bowers he had carelessly roved; The music of home sweetly struck on his ear

The voices of those he so dearly had loved.

He smiled, as now near to the cottage he drew;
(For a soul-thrilling ecstasy raptured his mind)
His bosom-loved friends to encircle him flew,
And their arms, with affection, around him entwined.

A sweet song of welcome they cheerfully sung,
And joyful, he fancied he joined in the strain;
His sisters around him endearingly clung,

And kissed him with transport again and again.

"I am blest!" cried the dreamer;"yea blest is the hour!
These lovely caresses once more do I meet ;-
Kind heaven! I thank thy all-favoring power-
Thou hast made every sense of enjoyment replete."

But hark! how the thunder now bursts o'er the sky!
It breaks on the vision so dear to his view;
While the lightning's dread glare meets his terrified eye,
And calls to his mind every horror anew.

"Oh God!" he exclaimed," is all this but a dream?
Is memory awakened to terror and pain?
So fair was the vision, so bright did it seem,

I thought in my soul thou hadst blessed me again."

Though roused from his slumber,-again he reclines;
He sinks on the tomb where so late he reposed;
No longer in sorrow his young heart repines,

For death's icy fingers his eyelids have closed.

He rests 'neath the shade of the cypress and yew:
No sculpture attracts the lone passenger's eye;-
Yet spring a fair tribute of flowers shall renew,

Where his bones unlamented-but peacefully lie.

9. HENRY FIRST, AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS SON.-Hemans.

The bark that held the prince went down,

The sweeping waves rolled on ;-
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?

He lived-for life may long be borne,

Ere sorrow breaks its chain;

Still comes not death to those who mourn ;

He never smiled again!

There stood proud forms before his throne,
The stately and the brave;

But which could fill the place of one,
That one beneath the wave?
Before him passed the young and fair,

In pleasure's reckless train;

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair-
He never smiled again!

He sat where festal bowls went round;

He heard the minstrel sing;

He saw the tourney's victor crowned
Amid the mighty ring:-

A murmur of the restless deep
Mingled with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep:-
He never smiled again!

Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured;

And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,
Were left to heaven's bright rain;

Fresh hopes were born for other years :-
He never smiled again!

10.

HENRY FIFTH AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.- -Southey.

To Henry's tent a hermit passed;
Their heads the soldiers bent
In silent reverence, or they begged
A blessing as they went:
The king was seated all alone,

The map before him lay;

Fresh conquests he was planning there

To grace the future day.

King Henry lifted up his eyes,

The intruder to behold;

With reverence he the hermit saw,

For the holy man was old,

"Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs
Which thou hast done this land ;-
Oh king! repent in time,-for know
The judgment is at hand.

"I used to see along the stream
The white sail gliding down,
That wafted food, in better times,
To yonder peaceful town.
Henry, I never now behold

The white sail sailing down;

Famine, disease, and death, and thou
Destroy that wretched town.

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