Classic Poem

“Be still, my dear darling, why start ye in sleep?
Ye dream and ye murmur, ye sob and ye weep;
What dread ye, what fear ye? oh, hush ye your fears—
Still starting, still moaning—still, still shedding tears!

“Be still, my dear darling, oh, stay your alarm!
Your brave-hearted father will guard you from harm;
With bare arm he toils by that red furnace glare,
His child and his wife and his home all his care.

“But, hark! what a crash—hush, my darling, be still,
Those screams 'mid dark night bode some terrible ill
Your father is there—death and danger are there!”
She bears forth her child, and she flies fleet as air.

A slow measured tread beats the smoke-blacken'd way,
On which a pale torch sheds a dim sickly ray;
The dreaming child's father and comrades forlorn—
Their dead neighbour home to a widow have borne:

The mother her baby clasps close to her breast,
“Your father is safe—my dear darling, now rest,
While I go to aid this lone daughter of sorrow,
God help me! I may be a widow to-morrow!”