Great lights shone out from stately rooms And hurrying men a moment paused In one proud mansion, broad and high, With a hearth-stone warm and bright, A lady by the window stood And gazed out on the night. Against the frosty pane she prest Her own slight shadow lay far out And two fair children there gazed up, Out to the door with hurrying feet "Now who are you who roam the street On such a freezing night? Your robes are old, your hands are bare, Your hair with frost is white." "We are two orphans. Underneath The lonesome churchyard sod Our parents sleep-and people tell "We wander round from street to street Without a friend to say, 'Poor children, come in with me and sit Fast flowed the lady's tears, as thus And in her heart a troubled fount Of long-kept grief was stirred. "Poor little ones! God from earth has called Your parents to the sky, And where yon church-cross shadow falls All my fair children lie. "So come and sit beside my hearth And slumber by my side, For God has sent you to replace My little ones that died!" Toby's Supper. WEARY day had Toby had of it, Driving the cows to pasture, putting up The bars behind them-bars that would not fit At either end, but down again would drop From out their rests, now one and then another, Till he grew hot and sweaty with the pother. Then there was weeding in the garden rows; And what young back was there so stout as his To stoop and pull the sly weeds, which the hoes Could not dislodge, or older eyes might miss, Beneath the tall corn hidden-though in truth Such groping labor did not please our youth. Yet on he worked like any little man; Stopping at times to fan his sweaty brow Of milk-and-water to his lips, or throw So went the day-but evening came at last; The cows were milked; the chickens had been fed With curds and crumbs-a very choice repast For feathered infants-and had gone to bed Beneath their good, old mother's brooding wings, Except a few poor fondling chicks-disowned All the tasks finished, tired as he could be Brim full of foaming milk-tossing his hair Back from his brow-and placed some meat and bread Beside, that he might eat and go to bed. And eat he did-for after so much work— Such driving cows and feeding chickens-he Was just as ravenous as any Turk; And the fresh milk, as sweet as it could be, Tasted so good, saying nothing of the matter Of meat and biscuit in the yellow platter! And so he ate, till from his listless hold, The spoon fell down upon the basin's side; Closed o'er his weary eyes; his head aside Meanwhile, the chickens from the basket popped; To see what made the kitchen seem so still, "Lord bless me! what a monstrous pity," thought The little house-dog watching Toby's sleep"That this good supper almost all for nought Should be so nicely cooked! If I should keep What's left from spoiling, I am sure 'twould be Most excellent economy in me! "Besides 'twould save my mistress all the trouble Of giving me my supper on the floor; And so I think, considering the double Advantage it will be to all, before My master Toby wakes, I'll softly fish With this clean paw, his supper from the dish!" "Why, bless me, Toby!" on his sleeping ear Bent over him, then yawned and scratched his head |