"Come closer!--sleep--forget the frost-- Think of the morning red-- Our father and our mother soon Will take us to their bed; And in their warm arms we shall sleep." He knew not they were dead. For them no father to the ship Shall with the morning come; For them no mother's loving arms Are spread to take them home: Meanwhile the cabin passengers In dreams of pleasure roam. At length the orphans sank to sleep All on the freezing deck; Close huddled side to side--each arm Clasp'd round the other's neck. With heads bent down, they dream'd the earth Was fading to a speck. The steerage passengers have all Been taken down below, And round the stove they warm their limbs Into a drowsy glow; And soon within their berths forget The icy wind and snow. Now morning dawns: the land in sight Smiles beam on every face! The pale and qualmy passengers Begin the deck to pace, Seeking along the sun-lit cliffs Some well known spot to trace. Only the orphans do not stir, Of all this bustling train: They reached their _home_ this starry night! They will not stir again! The winter's breath proved kind to them, And ended all their pain. But in their deep and freezing sleep, Clasp'd rigid to each other, In dreams they cried, "The bright morn breaks, Home! home! is here, my brother! The Angel Death has been our friend-- We come! dear Father! Mother!" [From the Autobiography of Leigh Hunt.] LORD BYRON, WORDSWORTH, AND CHARLES LAMB. In this house, Lord Byron continued the visits which he made me in prison. Unfortunately, I was too ill to return them. He pressed me very much to go to the theatre with him; but illness, and the dread of committing my critical independence, alike prevented me. His lordship was one of a management that governed Drury-lane Theatre at that time, and that were not successful. He got nothing by it, but petty vexations and a good deal of scandal.