FOR CHILDREN. 89

Canute! thy regal race is run ;
Thy name had! passed away,

But for the meed? this tale hath won
Which never shall decay :

Its meek, unperishing renown

Outlasts thy sceptre and thy crown,

The Persian,’ in his mighty pride,
Forged fetters for the main ;

And, when its floods his power defied,
Inflicted stripes as vain ;—

But it was worthier far of thee

To know thyself, than rule the sea !

Bernard Barton.

THE ORPHANS.

My chaise tae village inn did gain,
Just as the setting sun’s last ray
Tipped with refulgent gold the vane

Of the old church across the way.

Across the way I silent sped,
The time till supper to beguile
In moralizing o’er the dead
That mouldered round the ancient pile.

There many an humble green grave showed
Where want, and pain, and toil did rest ;
And many a flattering stone I viewed
O’er those who once had wealth possest

A faded beach its shadow brown
Threw o’er a grave where sorrow slept,

1 Had would have. ? Meed—reward, approbation. * Xerxes
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