Brightest eyes will lose their love-light,
Fairest cheeks grow pale and gray;--
Golden locks will lose their sunlight,
And the loveliest limbs decay.
But whilst life is left we hunger
For a taste of earthly bliss;
But the man need seek no longer,
Who can call sweet Nettie his.
The Dean's Brother.
A little lad, but thinly clad,
All day had roamed the street;
With stitled groans and aching bones,
He beg'd for bread to eat.
The wind blew shrill from o'er the hili,
And shook his scanty rags;
Whilst cold and sleet benumbed his feet,
As plodding o'er the flags.
The night drew on with thick'ning gloom,--
He hailed each passer by,
For help to save, but nought they gave,--
Then he sat down to cry.
It was a noble portico,
'Neath which the beggar stept,
And none would guess, one in distress
There shiv'ring sat and wept.
But soon the door was open thrown,--
The Dean, a goodly man;
Who lived within, had heard a moan,
And came the cause to scan.
"Ah, little boy, what want you here,
On such a bitter night?
Run home at once, you little dunce,
Or you'll be frozen quite.
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