TO A WOUNDED SINGING BIRD. BY BARRY CORNWALL. POOR Singer! hath the fowler's gun, We'll lay thee gently in the sun, And breathe on thee and keep thee warm; Perhaps some human kindness still May make amends for human ill. We'll take thee in, and nurse thee well, And thou shalt be our feathered child; · Fear not nor tremble, little bird, And sure there's in a friendly word An accent even thou shouldst know: For kindness which the heart doth teach, Disdaineth all peculiar speech. 'Tis common to the bird and brute, To fallen man, to angel bright; And sweeter 't is than lonely lute Heard in the air at night: Divine and universal tongue, Whether by bird or spirit sung. But hark! is that a sound we hear Another? ha! look where it lies, 'Tis dead, 't is dead! and all our care Is useless. Now, in vain The mother's woe doth pierce the air, All 's vain, the singer's heart is cold, - its fortune told ! THE BECHUANA BOΥ. BY THOMAS PRINGLE. The chief incidents of this little tale were related to the author by an African boy, whom he first met with near the borders of the Great Karroo or Arid Desert. The expression of the orphan stranger, when asked about his kindred, was literally (as translated by him into broken Dutch)-"Ik jben alleenig in de waereld!" i. e. "I am all alone in the world!" A few slight circumstances, characteristic of the country, are almost all that has been added to poor Marossi's affecting narrative. The system of outrage and oppression of which this story exhibits a specimen, has been ably developed by the Rev. Dr. Philip, in his "Researches in South Africa." The following terms perhaps require explanation for general readers: Bergenaars Mountaineers, a marauding horde of Griqua or Mulatto lineage, inhabiting the skirts of the Stormberg mountains, beyond the north-eastern frontier of the Cape Colony. Bushman. A wild Hottentot. Gareep Native name of the great Orange River. Springbok - Antilope Pygarga or Euchore. Wild-dog -Wilde-hond of the Colonists- Hyæna Venatica. Sea-Cow, or Zeekoe-The Colonial term for the Hippopotamus. I SAT at noon-tide in my tent, And looked across the Desert dun, When from the bosom of the waste He came with open aspect bland, That fawn of gentle brood; "Poor boy," I said, "thy kindred's home, The smile forsook him while I spoke ; "I have no kindred!" said the boy : "The slaughter o'er, they gave the slain To feast the foul-beaked birds of prey; And with our herds across the plain They hurried us away— |