PRAYER OF ARTHUR'S FATHER.

“O Maiden!” — thus the sire begun —

“O Maiden, do not scorn my prayer:

I have a hapless idiot son,

To all my wealth the only heir;

And day by day, in shine or rain,

He wanders forth, to gaze again

Upon those eyes, whose looks of kindness

Still haunt him in his world of blindness;

A sunless world!— all arts to yield

Light to the mind from childhood seal'd

Have been explored in vain.

Few are his joys on earth;— above,

For every ill a cure is given —

God grant me life to cheer with love

The wanderer's guileless path to Heaven.”

He paused — his heart was full — “And now,

What brings the suppliant father here?

Yes, few the joys that life bestows

On him whose life is but repose —

One night, from year to year;—

Yet not so dark, O maid, if thou

Couldst let his shadow catch thy light,

Couldst to his lip that smile allow

Which comes but at thy sight;

Couldst — ( for the smile is still so rare,

And oh, so innocent the joy! )

His presence, though it pain thee, bear,

Nor fear the harmless idiot boy!”

Then Eva's father, from her brow

Parted the golden locks, descending

To veil the sweet face, downwards bending:—

And, pointing to the swimming eyes,

The dew-drops glist'ning on the cheek,

“Mourner!” the happier father cries,

“These tears her answer speak!”

Oh, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow,

In mornings soft with May;

Oh, silver-clear the waves that flow

In summer skies away;—

But sweeter looks of kindness seem

O'er human trouble bow'd,

And gentle hearts reflect the beam

Less truly than the cloud.