THE YOUTH'S RECITOR.

[No. 9.]

The Idiot.

It had pleased God to form poor Ned,
A thing of idiot mind;
God had not been unkind.

Old Sarah lov'd her helpless child,
Whom helplessness made dear;
And life was happiness to him,
Who had no hope nor fear.

She knew his wants, she understood
Each half artic'd late call;
And he was every thing to her,
And she to him was all.

And so for many a year they dwelt,
Nor knew a wish beside;
But age at length on Sarah came,
And she fell sick and died.

He tried, in vain, to awaken her,
And call'd her o'er and o'er;
They told him she was dead;—the sound
To him no import bore.

They clos'd her eyes and shrouded her,
And he stood wondering by:
And when they bore her to the grave,
He follow'd silently.

They laid her in the narrow house,
They sung the funeral stave;
But when the funeral train dispers'd,
He loiter'd near the grave.

The rabble boys who used to jeer,
Whene'er they saw poor Ned;

Now stood and watch'd him at the grave,
And not a word they said.

They came and went, and came again,
Till night at last came on;
And still he loiter'd by the grave,
Till all the rest were gone.

And when he found himself alone,
He quick removed the clay;
And rais'd the coffin up in haste,
And bore it swift away.

And when he reach'd his hut, he laid
The coffin on the floor;
And with the eagerness of joy,
He barr'd the cottage door.

And out he took his mother's corpse,
And placed it on a chair;

And then he heap'd the hearth, and blew
The kindling fire with care.

He placed his mother in her chair,
And in her wonted place;
And blew the kindling fire, that shone
Reflected on her face.

And pausing, now her hand would feel,
And now her face behold;
Why, mother, do you look so pale,
And why are you so cold ?

It hath pleas'd God, from the poor wretch
His only friend to call;
But God was kind to him, and soon
In death restor'd them all.

E. Keys, (Columbian Printing Office) 7, James-street, Devonport.—Travellers and Country Shops supplied very cheap.