CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. IS* 



No ! I would ask that virtue bright 



May fix thy footsteps, ne'er to stray 5 

 That meek Religion's holy light 



May guide thee through life's desert way. 

 That manly sense, and purest truth, 



A breast, Contentment's chosen shrine, 

 May, through the slippery paths of youth, 



Unstain'd, untarnish'd, still be thine ! 

 That Love's chaste flame, that Friendship's glow, 



May kindle in thy generous breast ; 

 That peace, which greatness ne'er can know, 



Be thy calm pillow's nightly guest. 

 Sweet smiling infant ! if for thee 



Indulgent Heaven would hear my prayer, 

 Thus should the web of Destiny 



Be woven by a mother's care. 



MRS. C. B. WILSON. 



PAUPER ORPHANS. 



They never knew what 'twas to play, 

 Without control, the long, long day, 



In wood and field at will : 

 They knew no bird, no tree, no bud ; 

 They got no strawberries from the wood, 



No wild thyme from the hill. 



They play'd not on a mother's floor ; 

 They toil'd amidst the hum and roar 



Of bobbins and of wheels ; 

 The air they drew was not the wild 

 Bounty of nature, but denied, 



And scanty were their meals. 



Their lives can know no passing joy, 

 Dwindled and dwarf d are girl and boy, 



And even in childhood old ; 

 With hollow eye and anxious air, 

 As if a heavy grasping care 



Their spirits did enfold. 



