To pull a bough or berry by the way; And when you come to cross the ford, hold fast "Be sure," said she, To wrap it round, and knot it carefully, The mother watches them with foreboding, though she knows not why. In a little while the threatened storm sets in. Night comes, and with it comes the father from his daily toil - There's a treasure hidden in his hat A plaything for his young ones, he has found A dormouse nest; the living ball coil'd round For its long winter sleep; all his thought As he trudged stoutly homeward, was of naught And graver Lizzie's quieter surprise, When he should yield, by guess and kiss and prayer, Hard won, the frozen captive to their care. No little faces greet him as wont at the threshold; and to his hurried question "Are they come?"- t'was "no," To throw his tools down, hastily unhook The old crack'd lantern from its dusty nook And, while he lit it, speak a cheering word That almost choked him, and was scarcely heard,— Was but a moment's act, and he was gone To where a fearful foresight led him on. A neighbor goes with him, and the faithful dog follows the children's tracks. "Hold the light Low down, he's making for the water. Hark! I know that whine; the old dog's found them, Mark;" So speaking, breathlessly he hurried on Toward the old crazy foot bridge. It was gone! And all his dull contracted light could show Was the black, void, and dark swollen stream below; "Yet there's life somewhere- more than Tinker's whine That's sure," said Mark. "So, let the lantern shine Down yonder. There's the dog-and hark!" "O dear!" And a low sob come faintly on the ear, Mocked by the sobbing gust. Down quick as thought, "My babes! my lambkins!" was the father's cry, More ghastly, by the flickering lantern light, Than sheeted corpse. The pale blue lips drawn tight, And eyes on some dark object underneath, One arm and hand stretched out, and rigid grown, They lifted her from out her watery bed Its covering gone, the lovely little head Hung like a broken snowdrop all aside, And one small hand. The mother's shawl was tied Affording to the scrag, by a thick fold That caught and pinned her to the river's bed. "She might have lived, Struggling like Lizzy," was the thought that rived The wretched mother's heart when she heard all, "But for my foolishness about that shawl" But she won't move- we slept-I don't know how But I held on, and I'm so weary now And its so dark and cold! Oh dear! oh dear! And she won't move if father were but here !" -- All night long from side to side she turn'd, Piteously plaining like a wounded dove, With now and then the murmur "She won't move," The young head's raven hair was streaked with white! Mrs. Southey The Suliote Mother. She stood upon the loftiest peak, A bitter smile was on her cheek, "Dost thou see them, boy?—through the dusky pines? Wouldst thou spring from my mother's arms with joy? For in the rocky strait beneath, Lay Suliote sire and son; They had heap'd high the piles of death Before the pass was won. "They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come Woe for the mountain hearth and home! There, where the hunter laid by his spear, There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear, And now the horn's loud blast was heard, And now the cymbal's clang, Till even the upper air was stirr'd, "Hark! they bring music, my joyous child! As if at a glance of thine armed sire ?— Still-be thou still! - there are brave men low- But nearer came the clash of steel, And louder swell'd the horn, Through the dark pass was borne. "Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth ?— And from the arrowy peak she sprung, A veil upon the wind was flung, Hemans. Have Sandalphon. you read in the Talmud of old, The Angels of Wind and of Fire And he gathers the prayers as he stands, Into garlands of purple and red; |