"Thy talents rare, and filial love,
E'en more have fairly won;
Still be thou mine by other bonds--
My pupil and my son."
Murillo knew, e'en when the words
Of generous feeling passed his lips,
Sebastian's talents soon must lead
To fame that would his own eclipse;
And, constant to his purpose still,
He joyed to see his pupil gain,
As made his name the pride of Spain.
_Susan Wilson._
* * * * *
ONLY SIXTEEN.
Only sixteen, so the papers say,
Yet there, on the cold, stony ground he lay;
'Tis the same sad story, we hear every day--
He came to his death in the public highway.
Full of promise, talent and pride;
Yet the rum fiend conquered him--so he died.
Did not the angels weep over the scene?
For he died a drunkard--and only sixteen,--
Only sixteen.
Oh! it were sad he must die all alone;
That of all his friends, not even one
Was there to list to his last faint moan,
Or point the suffering soul to the throne
Of grace.
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