90 SELECT POETRY

On which, though scarce with grass o’ergrown,
Two ragged children sat and wept.

A piece of bread between them lay,
Which neither seemed inclined to take
And yet they looked so much a prey
To want, it made my heart to ache.

* My little children, let me know -
Why you in such distress appear,
And while you wasteful from you throw
That bread which many a one might cheer ?”

The little boy, in accents sweet,
Replied, while tears each other chased—
“ Lady ! we've not enough to eat,
Ah! if we had, we should not waste

© But sister Mary’s naughty grown,
And will not eat, whate’er I say,
Thongh sure I am the bread’s her own
For she has tasted none to-day.”

“Indeed,” the wan, starved Mary said,
* Till Henry eats, I'll eat no ‘more,
For yesterday I got some bread,
He’s had none since the day before.”’

My heart did swell, my bosom heave,
I felt as though deprived of speech ;
’ Silent I sat upon the grave,
And clasped the clay cold hand ot each.

With looks of woe too sadly true,
With looks that spoke a grateful heart,
The shivering boy then nearer drew,
And did his simple tale impart: