Classic Poem

XI.

Clos'd is the door whence, eager peeping forth,
The youngsters watch'd the darger's blyth return;
Foxy, supine, lies stretch'd before the hearth,
That, smouldering, dim and sickly seems to burn.
The well darn'd hose at last day's labour worn,
The strong gramashins, stiff with miry clay,
Beneath the sautfat, hung upon the horn,
Unsightly, to th' observant eye display,
That all keep undesir'd a mournful holiday.

XII.

The table still is spread — but, ah! their cheer
The father and the husband cannot bless;
The mother, though she strives to hide her fear,
All wild her looks declare extreme distress.
Her tears to her are meat; yet not the less
Her helpless children occupy her care;
Often she strokes their heads, and oft will press,
Yea oft will help them to their simple fare,
For poor, alas! ere long, she fears must be their share.

XIII.

The father, too, though awful in his face
The grim and grisly King of Terrors stare,
Yet hears their plaint, beholds their helpless case,
And all his woes a blacker aspect wear
Only to die his better thoughts might bear,
Though from the light of life untimely torn,
But ah, his babes, abandon'd to despair,
To toil, to hunger, nakedness and scorn,
Rush on his bleeding heart, too heavy to be borne.

XIV.

To hide the grief that in his bosom burns —
The magic of their artless looks to shun,
Round from the light his faded face he turns,
And o'er his cheeks the tears in silence run.
And soon, their sadly cheerless dinner done,
The careful mother rouses up the fire,
And trims her wheel — for something must be won;
To independence all her thoughts aspire,
And every effort now their pressing wants require.

XV.

But first the children must be put to bed,
For drowsy languors, listless, o'er them creep,
No father's fond caress to make them glad,
Nor artless tale, to shift the hour of sleep.
Yet still awake her little boy will keep,
With filial care, her company awhile,
Will listen to her plaint, and with her weep,
Or dwell with transport on the transient smile,
With which her rising fears she struggles to beguile.

XVI.

Yet soon o'ercome, he too begins to doze,
His closing eyes confess the drowsy power,
And, said his prayer, he hastens to repose,
For tir'd attention can apply no more.
Then, solitary, all the long night o'er,
She counts the lagging moments one by one,
Listening, at times, the wild wind's stormy roar,
At times her poor companion's deep'ning groan,
Which, as it rises slow, she mingles with her own.

XVII.

Meantime, the storm more strong begins to blow,
Behind the hearth the hail, thick, rattling, rings,
And, rising wildly shrill, the notes of woe,
Sweep, mournful, from a thousand viewless strings.
And Chanticleer, unwonted, claps his wings,
And thrice he fills the cot with echoes drear;
Forc'd by the blast the door wide open flings,
As raising up its voice, distinct and clear,
Above the sick man's bed the dead-chack strikes her ear.

XVIII.

Her task unable longer to pursue,
She rises up to go — she knows not where,
Walks round the floor as something she would do,
Which yet she cannot for the blinding tear.
Out to the night she looks — there all is drear —
No silver moon nor starry clusters rise;
Terrific Winter rides the groaning air,
And, sullen, shades with sombrous wing the skies,
While thick the shapeless drift tempestuous round him flies.

XIX.

Back from the gloom she, shrinking, shuts the door,
Thankful that yet a house remains her own,
While even now some friendless wretch and poor,
Far o'er the waste fatigued may lay him down,
Bewilder'd, faint, and hand to help him none;
The drift his covering, the cold earth his bed,
The wild blast answering dreary to his moan,
And from his view fair Hope for ever fled,
The thick cold damps of death swift closing round his head.

XX.

But soon recall'd her thoughts, for out of sleep
Awaking sudden, with a feeble cry,
The sick man starts, in spirit groaning deep,
And staring round with wildly frantic eye
Yet soon compos'd, he, with a softer sigh,
Happy to find th' appalling vision fled,
And now, the hour of rest supposing nigh,
Desires their night devotions should be made,
That safe they all may sleep beneath th' Almighty's shade.