Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 31

I will go to my home and my children to-night With no fumes of liquor their spirits to blight; And, with tears in my eyes, I will beg my poor wife To forgive me the wreck I have made of her life.

_I have never refused you before?_ Let that pa.s.s, For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

Just look at me now, boys, in rags and disgrace, With my bleared, haggard eyes, and my red, bloated face; Mark my faltering step and my weak, palsied hand, And the mark on my brow that is worse than Cain's brand; See my crownless old hat, and my elbows and knees, Alike, warmed by the sun, or chilled by the breeze.

Why, even the children will hoot as I pa.s.s;-- But I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

You would hardly believe, boys, to look at me now That a mother's soft hand was pressed on my brow-- When she kissed me, and blessed me, her darling, her pride, Ere she lay down to rest by my dead father's side; But with love in her eyes, she looked up to the sky Bidding me meet her there and whispered "Good-bye."

And I'll do it, G.o.d helping! Your _smile_ I let pa.s.s, For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

Ah! I reeled home last night, it was not very late, For I'd spent my last sixpence, and landlords won't wait On a fellow who's left every cent in their till, And has p.a.w.ned his last bed, their coffers to fill.

Oh, the torments I felt, and the pangs I endured!

And I begged for one gla.s.s--just one would have cured,-- But they kicked me out doors! I let that, too, pa.s.s, For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

At home, my pet Susie, with her rich golden hair, I saw through the window, just kneeling in prayer; From her pale, bony hands, her torn sleeves hung down, And her feet, cold and bare, shrank beneath her scant gown, And she prayed--prayed for _bread_, just a poor crust of bread, For one crust, on her knees my pet darling plead!

And I heard, with no penny to buy one, alas!

For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

For Susie, my darling, my wee six-year-old, Though fainting with hunger and shivering with cold, There, on the bare floor, asked G.o.d to bless _me_!

And she said, "Don't cry, mamma! He will; for you see, I _believe_ what I ask for!" Then sobered, I crept Away from the house; and that night, when I slept, Next my heart lay the PLEDGE! You smile! let it pa.s.s, For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys I have drank my last gla.s.s.

My darling child saved me! Her faith and her love Are akin to my dear sainted mother's above!

I will make my words true, or I'll die in the race, And sober I'll go to my last resting place; And she shall kneel there, and, weeping, thank G.o.d No _drunkard_ lies under the daisy-strewn sod!

Not a drop more of poison my lips shall e'er pa.s.s, For I've drank my last gla.s.s, boys, I have drank my last gla.s.s.

Highland Mary

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As, underneath their fragrant shade, I clasp'd her to my bosom!

The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary!

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, oh, fell death's untimely frost, That nipp'd my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary!

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft ha'e kiss'd, sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwalt on me sae kindly!

And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly; But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary!

_Robert Burns._

A Night with a Wolf

Little one, come to my knee!

Hark, how the rain is pouring Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, And the wind in the woods a-roaring!

Hush, my darling, and listen, Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is!

High up on the lonely mountains, Where the wild men watched and waited Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated.

The rain and the night together Came down, and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine-tree roof, And snapping many a rafter.

I crept along in the darkness, Stunned, and bruised, and blinded,-- Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs, And a sheltering rock behind it.

There, from the blowing and raining Crouching, I sought to hide me: Something rustled, two green eyes shone, And a wolf lay down beside me.

Little one, be not frightened; I and the wolf together, Side by side, through the long, long night Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me; Each of us warmed the other; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, That beast and man was brother.

And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning, Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me in payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring!

_Bayard Taylor._

She Was a Phantom of Delight

She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveler between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, n.o.bly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

_William Wordsworth._

The Rhodora

(_On Being Asked Whence Is The Flower_)

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook.

The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array.