THE INDIAN ORPHAN.
A TALE.
Surely there are
Some stars whose influence is upon our lives
Evil and overpowering: it is those
That blight the young rose in its earliest spring;
Sully the pearl fresh from its native sea;
Wing the shaft to the youthful warrior's breast
In his first field; and fade the crimson cheek
And blue eyes of the beautiful.L. E. L.
Yes, I remember well how she would sit of an evening and watch the sky, while her eyes flashed with light, as wild, as intense, as the brightest star on which she gazed; and when my kiss awakened her from her dream, I remember too, the warm heavy tears that were on the cheek she pressed to mine. "Thou art not like thy mother, my fair child," she would exclaim; "may thy life be unlike hers too!" and the words came forth so gently, and her voice was so sweet! I better loved to sit by her knee, and listen to her sad soft song, than to chase the fairest butterfly that lay like a gem on the roses I delighted to water. But my mother's voice grew feeble, and darkness settled on
