Yet mildly beamed her eye.

And beauty left a ling'ring trace,
Upon each feature there;
Which, with sweet dignity and grace,
Blended with ev'ry air.

A feeble taper dimly burn'd,
As swift her task she plied,
And oft her anxious gaze was turn'd
Where, nestled by her side,--

On a low pallet, sleeping lay
A darling, cherub boy,
With curling hair and azure eyes,
His mother's only joy.

Calm was his sleep; but starting once,
Half springing from his bed,
He spake, in accents faint and low,
"O, mother, give me bread."

And then her task she quicker plied,--
The starting tear repressed,
And, "Oh, my God!" she meekly cried,
"Protect the fatherless."

And so she toil'd, till morning spread
Her earliest tints of gray
Across the distant, eastern sky,