Classic Poem

It was out on the Western frontier —
The miners, rugged and brown,
Were gathered around the posters;
The circus had come to town!
The great tent shone in the darkness
Like a wonderful palace of light!
And rough men crowded the entrance —
Shows didn't come every night!

Not a woman's face among them;
Many a face that was bad,
And some that were only vacant,
And some that were very sad.
And behind a canvas curtain
In a corner of the place,
The clown with chalk and vermilion,
Was " making up " his face.

A weary-looking woman,
With a smile that still was sweet,
Sewed on a little garment,
With a cradle at her feet.
Pantaloon stood ready and waiting;
It was time for the going on,
But the clown in vain searched wildly;
The " property baby " was gone!

He murmured, impatiently hunting,
" It's strange that I cannot find —
There! I've looked in every corner;
It must have been left behind! "
The miners were stamping and shouting,
They were not patient men.
The clown bent over the cradle —
" I must take you , little Ben. "

The mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near;
She lifted her baby gently;
" You'll be very careful, dear? "
" Careful? You foolish darling, " —
How tenderly it was said!
What a smile shone through the chalk and paint, —
" I love each hair of his head! "

The noise rose into an uproar,
Misrule for the time was king;
The clown, with a foolish chuckle,
Bolted into the ring.
But as, with a squeak and a flourish,
The fiddles closed their tune,
" You'll hold him as if he was made of glass? "
Said the clown to the pantaloon.

The jovial fellow nodded;
" I've a couple myself, " he said,
" I know how to handle 'em, bless you!
Old fellow, go ahead! "
The fun grew fast and furious,
And not one of all the crowd
Had guessed that the baby was alive,
When he suddenly laughed aloud.

Oh, that baby-laugh! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring.
And the roughest customer there sprang up
With, " Boys, it's the real thing! "
The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
For a " shot at holding the baby " —
The baby that was " alive! "

He was thronged by kneeling suitors
In the midst of the dusty ring,
And he held his court right royally, —
The fair little baby-king, —
Till one of the shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk, for miles, of the country,
And the terror of the place;

Raised the little king to his shoulder,
And chuckled, " Look at that! "
As the chubby fingers clutched his hair
Then, " Boys, hand round the hat. "
There never was such a hatful
Of silver, and gold, and notes;
People are not always penniless
Because they don't wear coats!

And then, " Three cheers for the baby! "
I tell you, those cheers were meant,
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.
And then there was sudden silence,
And a gruff old miner said,
" Come, boys, enough of this rumpus;
It's time it was put to bed. "

So, looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright,
The audience, somewhat lingeringly,
Flocked out into the night.
And the bold-faced leader chuckled,
" He wasn't a bit afraid!
He's as game as he is good-looking —
Boys, that was the show that paid . "