He wondered. It neither was water nor tea!
Just then a thought struck him and filled him with fear:
"Oh! it must be the poison for rats, I declare!"
And loudly he called on his dear, sleeping wife,
And begged her to rise; "for," said he, "on my life
I fear it was _poison_ the bowl did contain.
_Oh dear! yes_, it _was_ poison; I now feel the pain!"
"And what made you dry, sir?" the wife sharply cried.
"'Twould serve you just right if from poison you died;
And you've done a _fine_ job, and you'd now better march,
_For just see, you brute, you have drunk all my starch!_"
THE GREEN GOOSE.
Mr. Bogardus "gin a treat,"
And a green goose, best of birds to eat,
Delicious, savory, fat and sweet,
Formed the dish the guests to greet;
But such, we know,
Is small for a "blow,"
And many times around won't go;
So Mr. Bogardus chanced to reflect,
And with a wisdom circumspect,
He sent round cards to parties select,
Some six or so the goose to dissect,
The day and hour defining;
And then he laid in lots of things,
That might have served as food for kings,
Liquors drawn from their primal springs,
And all that grateful comfort brings
To epicures in dining.
But Mr. Bogardus's brother Sim,
With moral qualities rather dim,
Copied the message sent to him,
In his most clerkly writing,
And sent it round to Tom, and Dick,
And Harry, and Jack, and Frank, and Nick,
And many more, to the green goose "pick"
Most earnestly inviting;
He laid it on the green goose thick,
Their appetites exciting.
'Twas dinner time by the Old South Clock;
Bogardus waited the sounding knock
Of friends to come at the moment, "chock,"
To try his goose, his game, his hock,
And hoped they would not dally;
When one, and two, and three, and four,
And running up the scale to a score,
And adding to it many more,
Who all their Sunday fixings wore,
Came in procession to the door,
And crowded in on his parlor floor,
Filling him with confusion sore,
Like an after-election rally!
"Gentlemen," then murmured he,
"To what unhoped contingency
Am I owing for this felicity,
A visit thus unexpected?"
Then they held their cards before his eyes,
And he saw, to his infinite surprise,
That some sad dog had taken a rise
On him, and his hungry friends likewise,
And _whom_ he half suspected;
But there was Sim,
Of morals dim,
With a face as long, and dull, and grim,
As though _he_ the ire reflected.
Then forth the big procession went,
With mirth and anger equally blent;
To think they didn't get the scent
Of what the cursed missive meant
Annoyed some of 'em deeply;
They felt they'd been caught by a green goose bait,
And plucked and skinned, and then, light weight,
Had been sold very cheaply.
MORAL.
Keep your weather eye peeled for trap,
For we never know just what may hap,
Nor if we shall be winners;
Remembering that one green goose
Will be of very little use
'Mongst twenty hungry sinners.
MIGRATORY BONES,[2]
SHOWING THE VAGABONDISH TENDENCY OF BONES THAT ARE LOOSE.
We all have heard of Dr. Redman,
The man in New York who deals with dead men,
Who sits at a table,
And straightway is able
To talk with the spirits of those who have fled, man!
And gentles and ladies
Located in Hades,
Through his miraculous mediation,
Declare how they feel,
And such things reveal
As suits their genius for impartation.
'Tis not with any irreverent spirit
I give the tale, or flout it, or jeer it;
For many good folk
Not subject to joke
Declare for the fact that they both see and hear it.
It comes from New York, though,
And it might be hard work, though,
To bring belief to any point near it.
Now this Dr. Redman,
Who deals with dead men,
Once cut up a fellow whose spirit had fled, man,
Who (the fellow) perchance
Had indulged in that dance
Performed at the end of a hempen thread, man;
And the cut-up one,
(A sort of a gun!)
Like Banquo, though he was dead, wasn't done,
Insisted in very positive tones
That he'd be ground to calcined manure,
Or any other evil endure,
Before he'd give up his right to his bones!
And then, through knocks, the resolute dead man
Gave his bones a bequest to Redman.
In Hartford, Conn.,
This matter was done,
And Redman the bones highly thought on,
When, changed to New York
Was the scene of his work,
In conjunction with Dr. Orton.
Now mark the wonder that here appears:
After a season of months and years,
Comes up again the dead man,
Who in a very practical way,
Says he'll bring his bones some day,
And give them again to Redman.
When, sure enough
(Though some that are rough
Might call the narrative "devilish tough"),
One charming day
In the month of May,
As Orton and Redman walked the street
Through the severing air,
From they knew not where,
Came a positive bone, all bleached and bare.
That dropped at the doctor's wondering feet!
Then the sprightly dead man
Knocked out to Redman
The plan that lay in his ghostly head, man:
He'd carry the freight,
Unheeding its weight;
They needn't question how, or about it;
But they might be sure
The bones he'd procure
And not make any great bones about it.
From that he made it a special point
Each day for their larder to furnish a joint!
From overhead, and from all around,
Upon the floor, and upon the ground,
Pell-mell,
Down fell
Low bones, and high bones,
Jaw bones, and thigh bones,
Until the doctors, beneath their power,
Ducked like ducks in a thunder-shower!
Armfuls of bones,
Bagfuls of bones,
Cartloads of bones,
No end to the multitudinous bones,
Until, forsooth, this thought gained head, man,
That this invisible friend, the dead man,
Had chartered a band
From the shadowy land,
Who had turned to work with a busy hand,
And boned all their bones for Dr. Redman!
Now, how to account for all the mystery
Of this same weird and fantastical history?
That is the question
For people's digestion,
And calls aloud for instant untwistery!
Of this we are certain,
By this lift of the curtain,
That still they're alive for work or enjoyment,
Though I must confess
That I scarcely can guess
Why they don't choose some useful employment.
[Footnote 2: Dr. Redman, of New York, was a noted medium, and it was
said that, for a while, wherever he might be, bones would be dropped
all about him, to the confusion and wonder of everybody. These bones,
he said, were brought him by a spirit, whose bones were of no further
use to him.]
THE RED CHIGNON.
(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
CHARACTERS.
MISS PRISCILLA PRECISE, { Principal of a genteel Boarding
{ School for Young Ladies.
HETTY GRAY, }
FANNY RICE, } Pupils.
LIZZIE BOND, }
HANNAH JONES, }
MRS. LOFTY, a fashionable Lady.
SCENE.--_Parlor in_ MISS PRECISE'S _Establishment._
_Piano_ R., _Lounge_ L., _Chairs_ C.
_Enter_ HETTY, FANNY, _and_ LIZZIE, R., _laughing._
_Hetty._ O, such a fright!
_Fanny._ Such a stupid!
_Lizzie._ I never saw such a ridiculous figure in the whole course of
my life!
_Hetty._ I should think she came from the back-woods.
_Fanny._ Who is she, any way?
_Lizzie._ She's the daughter of the rich Mr. Jones, a man, who, three
years ago, was the proprietor of a very small saw-mill away down east.
He managed to scrape together a little money, which he invested in
certain railroad stocks, which nobody thought would ever pay. They
did, however, and he has, no doubt to his own astonishment, made a
great deal of money.
_Hetty._ And that accounts for Miss Precise's partiality. Well, I'm
not going to associate myself with her; and I mean to write to
father this very day, and tell him to take me home. She dresses so
ridiculously!
_Lizzie._ And talks so horridly!
_Fanny._ And plays so wretchedly!
_Hetty._ O, girls, don't you think I caught her at the piano this
morning playing Yankee Doodle and whistling an accompaniment!
_Fanny._ Whistling!
_Lizzie._ Good gracious! what would Miss Precise say. If there's
anything she forbids, it's whistling.
_Hetty._ Yes, and such a reader! I heard her reciting Longfellow's
Excelsior; and such reading, and such gestures! (_Recites._)
"The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an All-pine village past--"
(_All laugh._)
_Fanny._ O, it's ridiculous!
_Lizzie._ And then her dress! O, girls, I've made a discovery!
_Fanny._ What is it? What is it?
_Hetty._ O, do tell us!
_Lizzie._ Well, then, you must be secret.
_Fanny and Hetty._ Of course, of course!
_Lizzie._ Well, yesterday, at just twelve o'clock, I was in the hall;
the door-bell rang; I opened it; there was a box for Miss Hannah
Jones; I took it; I carried it to her room; I opened--
_Fanny and Hetty._ The box?
_Lizzie._ The door; she wasn't there. I put it on the table; it
slipped off; the cover rolled off; and such a sight!
_Fanny._ What was it?
_Hetty._ O, do tell us!
_Lizzie._ Four--great--red--
_Fanny and Hetty._ What? What?
_Lizzie._ Chignons!
_Hetty._ Chignons? Why, Miss Precise has forbidden our wearing them.
_Fanny._ O, it's horrible!
_Lizzie._ Ain't it? And I did want one so bad!
_Hetty._ But she cannot wear them.
_Lizzie._ We shall see! Now comes Miss Precise's trial. She has taken
Hannah Jones because her father is rich. She worships money; but if
there is anything she hates, it is chignons. If she can stand this
test, it will be the best thing in the world for us. Then we'll all
have them.
_Hetty._ Of course we will.
_Fanny._ But I don't like the idea of having such an interloper here.
She's no company for us.
_Enter_ MISS PRECISE, L. _She stands behind the Girls with folded
arms._
_Hetty._ Indeed she isn't! I think Miss Precise is real mean to allow
her to stay.
_Lizzie._ She'd better go where she belongs,--among the barbarians!
_Miss Precise._ And pray, whom are you consigning to a place among the
barbarians, young ladies?
_Hetty._ Good gracious!
_Fanny._ O, dear! O, dear!
_Lizzie._ O, who'd have thought!
(_They separate_, HETTY _and_ FANNY, L., LIZZIE, R., MISS PRECISE, C.)
_Miss P._ Speak, young ladies; upon whom has your dread anathema been
bestowed?
_Lizzie._ Well, Miss Precise, if I must tell, it's that hateful new
pupil, Miss Jones. I detest her.
_Fanny._ I can't abide her.
_Hetty._ She's horrible!
_Lizzie._ So awkward!
_Fanny._ Talks so badly!
_Hetty._ And dresses so ridiculously!
_Lizzie._ If she stays here, I shan't!
_Fanny._ Nor I.
_Hetty._ Nor I.
_Miss P._ Young ladies, are you pupils of the finest finishing-school
in the city? Are you being nursed at the fount of learning? Are you
being led in the paths of literature by my fostering hands?
_Lizzie._ Don't know. S'pose so.
_Miss P._ S'pose so! What language! S'pose so! Is this the fruit of
my teaching? Young ladies, I blush for you!--you, who should be the
patterns of propriety! Let me hear no more of this. Miss Jones is
the daughter of one of the richest men in the city, and, as such, she
should be respected by you.
_Lizzie._ She's a low, ignorant girl.
_Miss P._ Miss Bond!
_Hetty._ With arms like a windmill.
_Miss P._ Miss Gray!
_Fanny._ A voice like a peacock.
_Miss P._ Miss Rice!
_Hetty, Lizzie, and Fanny._ O, she's awful!
_Miss P._ Young ladies! I'm astonished! I'm shocked! I'm
thunderstruck! Miss Jones is my pupil. She is your associate. As such,
you will respect her. Let me hear no more of this. Go to your
studies. I highly respect Miss Jones. Imitate her. She's not given to
conspiracies. She's not forever gossiping. Be like her, and you will
deserve my respect. To your studies. Miss Jones is a model for your
imitation. [_Exit_, L.
_Hetty._ Did you ever!
_Fanny._ No, I never!
_Lizzie._ A model for imitation! Girls, we'll have some fun out
of this. Imitate Miss Jones! I only hope she'll put on one of her
chignons. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ HANNAH JONES, R., _extravagantly dressed, with a red chignon,
followed by_ MRS. LOFTY.
_Hannah._ Come right in, marm; this is our setting-room, where we
receive callers. Take a seat.
(MRS. LOFTY _sits on lounge_.)
_Mrs. Lofty._ Will you please call your mistress at once?
_Hannah._ My mistress? Law, neow, I s'pose yeou take me for a hired
gal. Yeou make me laugh! Why, my pa's richer than all the rest of
'em's pas put together. I deon't look quite so scrumptious as the rest
o 'em, p'r'aps, but I'm one of the scholars here.
_Mrs. L._ I beg your pardon. No offence was intended.
_Hannah._ Law, I don't mind it. Yeou see our folks come from deown
east, and we haven't quite got the hang of rich folks yit. That's why
I'm here to git polished up. Miss Precise is the schoolmarm, but she's
so stiff, I don't expect she'll make much of me. I do hate airs. She
makes the girls tend tu door, because she's too poor to keep help.
_Mrs. L._ Will you please speak to her? I have not much time to spare,
as this is my charity day.
_Hannah._ Charity day! Pray, what's that?
_Mrs. L._ I devote one day in the week to visiting poor people, and
doing what I can to alleviate their misfortunes.
_Hannah._ Well, marm, that's real clever in you. I do like to see rich
folks look arter the poor ones. Won't you please to let me help you?
I don't know the way among the poor yit, but I'm going to find out.
Here's my pocket-book; there's lots uv money in it; and if you'll
take and use it for the poor folks, I'll be obleeged. (_Gives
pocket-book._)
_Mrs. L._ O, thank you, thank you! you are very kind; I will use it,
for I know just where it is needed. Can you really spare it?
_Hannah._ Spare it? Of course I can. I know where to git lots more;
and my pa says, 'What's the use of having money, if you don't do good
with it?' Law, I forgot all about Miss Precise. You just make yourself
to home, and I'll call her. [_Exit_, L.
_Mrs. L._ A rough diamond. She has a kind heart. I hope she'll not be
spoiled in the hands of Miss Precise. (_Opens pocket-book._) What a
roll of bills! I must speak to Miss Precise before I use her money.
She may not be at liberty to dispose of it in this wholesale manner.
_Enter_ MISS PRECISE, L.
_Miss P._ My dear Mrs. Lofty, I hope I have not kept you waiting.
(_Shakes hands with her, then sits in chair_, C.)
_Mrs. L._ O, no; though I'm in something of a hurry. I called to ask
you if you could take my daughter as a pupil.
_Miss P._ Well, I am rather full just now; and the duties of
instructor are so arduous, and I am so feeble in health----
_Mrs. L._ O, don't let me add to your trials. I will look elsewhere.
_Miss P._ No, no; you did not hear me out. I was going to say I have
decided to take but one more pupil.
_Mrs. L._ What are the studies?
_Miss P._ English branches, French, Italian, German, and Spanish
languages, and music; all taught under my personal supervision.
_Mrs. L._ Quite an array of studies; almost too much for one teacher.
_Miss P._ Ah, Mrs. Lofty, the mind--the mind is capable of great
expansion; and to one gifted with the power to lead the young in the
flowery paths of learning, no toil is too difficult. My school is
select, refined; nothing rough or improper is allowed to mingle with
the high-toned elements with which I endeavour to form a fashionable
education.
_Mrs. L._ I should like to see some of your pupils.
_Miss P._ O, certainly. You will take them unawares; but I flatter
myself you will not find them unprepared. (_Strikes bell on piano._)
_Enter_ FANNY, _dressed as before, but with large, red chignon on her
head._
_Miss P._ This is Miss Fanny Rice. Mrs. Lofty, Fanny. There you see
one of my pupils who has an exquisite touch for the piano, a refined,
delicate appreciation of the sweetest strains of the great masters.
Fanny, my dear, take your place at the piano, and play one of those
pieces which you know I most admire. (FANNY _sits at piano, plays
Yankee Doodle, whistling an accompaniment._) What does this mean?
(_Turns and looks at_ FANNY, _starts, puts her eye-glass to her
eye.--Aside._) Heavens! that child has one of those horrible chignons
on her head!--(_Aloud._) Miss Rice, why did you make that selection?
_Fanny._ (_Imitates_ HANNAH'S _manner of speaking._) Cos I thought
you'd like it.
_Miss P._ "Cos?" O, I shall die! And why did you think I should like
it?
_Fanny._ Cos that's the way Hannah Jones does.
_Miss P._ Send Miss Gray to me. (_Follows_ FANNY _to door._) And take
that flaming turban off your head. I'll pay you for this!
[_Exit_ FANNY, L.
_Mrs. L._ Your pupil is exceedingly patriotic in her selection.
_Miss P._ Yes; there's some mistake here. She's evidently not on her
good behaviour.
_Enter_ HETTY GRAY, L., _with red chignon._
Ah, here's Miss Gray. Mrs. Lofty, Miss Gray. She has a sweet voice,
and sings sentimental songs in a bewitching manner. Miss Gray, take
your place at the piano, and sing one of my favourites.
(HETTY _sits at piano, plays and sings._)
"Father and I went down to camp
Along with Captain Goodin,
And there we saw the boys and girls
As thick as hasty-puddin."
_Miss P._ Stop! (_Looks at her through eye-glass._) She's got one of
those hateful things on too,--chignons! Is there a conspiracy? Miss
Gray, who taught you that song?
_Hetty._ Miss Hannah Jones, if you please.
_Miss P._ Go back to your studies, and send Miss Bond to me. (_Takes
her by the ear, and leads her to the door._)
_Hetty._ Ow! you hurt!
_Miss P._ Silence, miss! Take off that horrid head-dress at once.
[_Exit_, HETTY, L.
Mrs. Lofty, how can I find words to express
my indignation at the conduct of my pupils? I assure you, this is
something out of the common course.
_Enter_ LIZZIE, L., _with red chignon._
Here is one of my smartest pupils, Miss Bond. Mrs. Lofty, Miss Bond.
She particularly excels in reading. Miss Bond, take a book from the
piano and read, something sweet and pathetic! something that you think
would suit me.
LIZZIE _takes a position_, L., _opens book, and reads, in imitation
of_ HANNAH'S _voice._
_Lizzie._
What is it that salutes the light,
Making the heads of mortals bright,
And proves attractive to the sight?
My chignon.
_Miss P._ Good gracious! is the girl mad?
_Lizzie._
What moves the heart of Miss Precise
To throw aside all prejudice,
And gently whisper, It is nice?
My chignon!
_Miss P._ Chignon, indeed! Who taught you to read in that manner?
_Lizzie._ Hannah Jones.
_Miss P._ O, this is too bad! You, too, with one of these horrid
things on your head? (_Snatches it off, and beats her on head with
it._) Back to your room! You shall suffer for this! [_Exit_ LIZZIE, L.
_Mrs. L._ Excuse me, Miss Precise, but your pupils all wear red
chignons. Pray, is this a uniform you have adopted in your school?
_Miss P._ O, Mrs. Lofty, I'm dying with mortification! Chignons! I
detest them; and my positive orders to my pupils are, never to wear
them in the house.
_Hannah._ (_Outside_, L.) Wal, we'll see what Miss Precise will say to
this.
_Enters with a red chignon in each hand, followed by_ LIZZIE, HETTY,
_and_ FANNY.
_Miss P._ Good gracious! More of these horrid things!
_Hannah._ Miss Precise, jest look at them! Here these pesky girls have
been rummaging my boxes, and putting on my best chignons that pa sent
me only yesterday. Look at them! They're teetotally ruined!
_Miss P._ Why, Miss Jones, you've got one on your head now!
_Hannah._ Of course I have. Have you got anything to say against it?
_Miss P._ O, no; only it don't match your hair.
_Hannah._ What of that? Pa always goes for the bright colours, and so
do I.
_Lizzie._ Miss Precise, I thought pupils were forbidden to wear them.
_Miss P._ Well, yes--no--I must make exceptions. Miss Jones has
permission to wear them.
_Lizzie._ Then I want permission.
_Hetty._ And so do I.
_Fanny._ And so do I.
_Miss P._ First tell me what is the meaning of this scene we have just
had.
_Lizzie._ Scene? Why, didn't you tell us to take Miss Jones as a model
for imitation? Haven't we done it?
_Miss P._ But Miss Jones doesn't whistle.
_Hannah._ Whistle? I bet I can. Want to hear me?
_Miss P._ No. She don't sing comic songs.
_Hannah._ Yes, she does.
_Lizzie._ Yes, and she wears chignons. As we must imitate her, and
hadn't any of our own, we appropriated hers.
_Miss P._ Shame, shame! What will Mrs. Lofty say?
_Mrs. L._ That she rather enjoyed it. I saw mischief in their eyes as
they came in. And now, girls, I'm going to tell you what Miss Jones
does that you _don't_ know. A short time ago she placed in my hands
her pocket-book, containing a large roll of bills, to be distributed
among the poor.
_Lizzie._ Why, isn't she splendid?
_Hetty._ Why, she's "mag."
_Fanny._ O, you dear old Hannah. (_Kisses her._)
_Mrs. L._ I'm going to send my daughter here to school, and I shall
tell her to make all the friends she can; but her first friend must be
Hannah Jones.
_Hannah._ Well, I'm sure, I'm obleeged to you.
_Lizzie._ O, Miss Precise, we are so sorry we have acted so! Let
us try again, and show Mrs. Lofty that we have benefited by your
instruction.
_Miss P._ Not now. If Mrs. Lofty will call again, we will try to
entertain her. I see I was in the wrong to give you such general
directions. I say now, imitate Hannah Jones--her warm heart, her
generous hand.
_Mrs. L._ And help her, by your friendship, to acquire the knowledge
which Miss Precise so ably dispenses.
_Lizzie._ We will, we will.
_Miss P._ Only, ladies, avoid whistling.
_Hetty._ Of course, of course.
_Miss P._ And comic songs!
_Fanny._ O, certainly.
_Lizzie._ And there is one more thing we shall be sure to avoid.
_Miss P._ What is that?
_Lizzie._ The wearing of red chignons.
[_Exeunt._
THE KNIFE-GRINDER.
GEORGE CANNING.
FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road,--your wheel is out of order,--
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in 't,
So have your breeches!
Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 't is crying all day 'Knives and
Scissors to grind O!
Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?
Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.
KNIFE-GRINDER.
Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night, a drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
Stocks for a vagrant.
I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.
FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hang'd first,--
Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance--
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!
[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport
of enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]
PREACHING TO THE POOR.
Father Taylor once said, "'Tis of no use to preach to empty
stomachs."
The parson preached in solemn way,
--A well-clad man on ample pay,--
And told the poor they were sinners all,
Depraved and lost by Adam's fall;
That they must repent, and save their souls.
A hollow-eyed wretch cried, "_Give us coals!_"
Then he told of virtue's pleasant path,
And that of ruin and of wrath;
How the slipping feet of sinners fell
Quick on the downward road to h----,
To suffer for sins when they are dead;
And the hollow voice answered, "_Give us bread!_"
Then he spoke of a land of love and peace,
Where all of pain and woe shall cease,
Where celestial flowers bloom by the way,
Where the light is brighter than solar day,
And there's no cold nor hunger there.
"Oh," says the voice, "_Give us clothes to wear!_"
Then the good man sighed, and turned away,
For such depravity to pray,
That had cast aside the heavenly worth
For the transient and fleeting things of earth!
And his church that night, to his content,
Raised his salary fifty per cent.
THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.
BY C.B. SOUTHEY.
Tread softly--bow the head;
In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.
Stranger! however great,
With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that paltry bed,
Greater than thou.
Beneath that beggar's roof,
Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter--no crowds attend;
Enter--no guards defend
This palace gate.
That pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound--
An infant wail alone:
A sob suppressed--again
That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.
Oh! change!--Oh! wondrous change!--
Burst are the prison bars--
This moment there, so low,
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars!