116 HENRY KIEKE WHITE's POEJI?. 



IV. 



But my father and mother were summon'd away, 

 And they left me to hardhearted strangers a prey 

 I fled from their rigour with many a sigh, 

 And now I'm a poor little wandering boy. 



V. 



The wind it is teen, and the snow loads the gale, 

 And no one will list to my innocent tale ; 

 I'll go to the grave where my parents both lie, 

 And death shall befriend the poor wandering boy. 



PASTORAL SONG. 



Come, Anna ! come, the morning dawns, 



Faint streaks of radiance tinge the skies 

 Come, let us seek the dewy lawns. 

 And watch the early lark arise ; 

 While nature clad in vesture gay, 

 Hails the loved return of day. 



Our flocks that nip the scanty blade 



Upon the moor, shall seek the vale ; 

 And then secure beneath the shade, 

 We'll listen to the throstle's tale; 

 And watch the silver clouds above, 

 As o'er the azure vault they rove. 



Come, Anna! come, and bring thy lute, 



That with its tones, so softly sweet, 

 In cadence with my mellow flute. 



We may beguile the noo-n-tide heat ; 

 While near the mellow bee shall join, 

 To raise a harmony divine. 



And then at eve, when silence reigns, 

 Except when heard the beetle's hum 



I We'll leave the sober-tinted plains, 



