And withers under yon grave-stone,
Thou art not, Urchin, left alone.
III.
I know thee well! thy yellow hair
In silky waves I oft have seen;
Thy dimpled face, so fresh and fair,
Thy roguish smile, thy playful mien
Were all to me, poor Orphan, known,
Ere Fate had left thee—all alone!
IV.