(A Manx Legend.)

'T WAS eve; and, bathed in purple mist,
The sun was sinking, when
Sir Thomas and his Lady fair
Were walking up the glen.

All bent with age and care, they mused
In pensive mood and sad,
That all these years no Heir had come
To make their household glad.

When suddenly upon the ear
There fell, as from the sky,
All through that golden solitude
A baby's tender cry.

High up the heather-crested peak
Of proud Cronk Urleigh's breast
An eagle on a rocky ledge
Had built her scanty nest.

The servants ran and found the babe
And snatched it from the nest;
They laid it in the Lady's arms,
She warmed it at her breast.

Then home they took the little babe —
'Twas hale and strong and fair —
And praised the Lord with thankful hearts
That He had heard their prayer.

And when, arrived at man's estate,
The little stranger came
To rule the Island of his birth
He won a splendid fame.

To-day great Derby's House still paints
Upon its 'scutcheon bold
An Eagle and a little Child
With coronet of gold.