A DIRGE. O ye strong Norwegian gallants, But the brave Norwegian gallants old; Till her heart and her face grew With the round hoop of gold! 439 FITZ-JAMES O'BRIEN. A DIRGE CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again. JOHN WEBSTER. MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE. My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Restless and soon to pass away; My life is like the prints which feet All trace will vanish from the sand: Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea. But none, alas! shall mourn for me! RICHARD HENry Wilde. He wept; he clasped his hands and cried: 66 Ah, every child to-night rejoices; Their Christmas presents all divide, Around their trees, with merry voices; "Once with my sister, hand in hand, At home, how did my tree delight me! No other tapers shone so grand; But all forget me, none invite me, Here, lonely, in the stranger's land. "Will no one let me in, to share The light, to take some corner nigh it? A little seat among them there? THE ORPHAN'S CHRISTMAS-TREE. "Will no one let me in to-night? I will not beg for gift or token; I only ask to see the sight And hear the thanks of others spoken, And that will be my own delight." He knocked at every door and gate; Or came, the "Welcome in!" to utter: Each father looked with eyes that smiled, "O Christ-child, holy, kind, and dear! Be thou my help, there is none other, The poor boy rubbed his hands so blue, And crouched within a corner stilly, 443 |