Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 7

Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging--'tis the hour of curfew now, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow.

Shall she let it ring? No, never! flash her eyes with sudden light, As she springs and grasps it firmly--"Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Out she swung--far out; the city seemed a speck of light below, There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell swung to and fro; And the s.e.xton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell, Sadly thought, "That twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell."

Still the maiden clung more firmly, and with trembling lips so white, Said, to hush her heart's wild throbbing: "Curfew shall not ring to-night."

It was o'er; the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the dark old ladder where, for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done Should be told long ages after; as the rays of setting sun Crimson all the sky with beauty, aged sires with heads of white, Tell the eager, listening children, "Curfew did not ring that night."

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie sees him, and her brow, Lately white with fear and anguish, has no anxious traces now.

At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn; And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light: "Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell, "Curfew shall not ring to-night."

Wide they flung the ma.s.sive portal; led the prisoner forth to die,-- All his bright young life before him. 'Neath the darkening English sky Bessie comes with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with love-light sweet; Kneeling on the turf beside him, lays his pardon at his feet.

In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white, Whispered, "Darling, you have saved me--curfew will not ring to-night."

_Rose Hartwick Thorpe._

Kate Sh.e.l.ly

Have you heard how a girl saved the lightning express-- Of Kate Sh.e.l.ly, whose father was killed on the road?

Were he living to-day, he'd be proud to possess Such a daughter as Kate. Ah! 'twas grit that she showed On that terrible evening when Donahue's train Jumped the bridge and went down, in the darkness and rain.

She was only eighteen, but a woman in size, With a figure as graceful and lithe as a doe, With peach-blossom cheeks, and with violet eyes, And teeth and complexion like new-fallen snow; With a nature unspoiled and unblemished by art-- With a generous soul, and a warm, n.o.ble heart!

'Tis evening--the darkness is dense and profound; Men linger at home by their bright-blazing fires; The wind wildly howls with a horrible sound, And shrieks through the vibrating telegraph wires; The fierce lightning flashes along the dark sky; The rain falls in torrents; the river rolls by.

The scream of a whistle; the rush of a train!

The sound of a bell! a mysterious light That flashes and flares through the fast falling rain!

A rumble! a roar! shrieks of human affright!

The falling of timbers! the s.p.a.ce of a breath!

A splash in the river; then darkness and death!

Kate Sh.e.l.ly recoils at the terrible crash; The sounds of destruction she happens to hear; She springs to the window--she throws up the sash, And listens and looks with a feeling of fear.

The tall tree-tops groan, and she hears the faint cry Of a drowning man down in the river near by.

Her heart feebly flutters, her features grow wan, And then through her soul in a moment there flies A forethought that gives her the strength of a man-- She turns to her trembling old mother and cries: "I must save the express--'twill be here in an hour!"

Then out through the door disappears in the shower.

She flies down the track through the pitiless rain; She reaches the river--the water below Whirls and seethes through the timbers. She shudders again; "The bridge! To Moingona, G.o.d help me to go!"

Then closely about her she gathers her gown And on the wet ties with a shiver sinks down.

Then carefully over the timbers she creeps On her hands and knees, almost holding her breath.

The loud thunder peals and the wind wildly sweeps, And struggles to hurry her downward to death; But the thought of the train to destruction so near Removes from her soul every feeling of fear.

With the blood dripping down from each torn, bleeding limb, Slowly over the timbers her dark way she feels; Her fingers grow numb and her head seems to swim; Her strength is fast failing--she staggers! she reels!

She falls--Ah! the danger is over at last, Her feet touch the earth, and the long bridge is pa.s.sed!

In an instant new life seems to come to her form; She springs to her feet and forgets her despair.

On, on to Moingona! she faces the storm, She reaches the station--the keeper is there, "Save the lightning express! No--hang out the red light!

There's death on the bridge at the river to-night!"

Out flashes the signal-light, rosy and red; Then sounds the loud roar of the swift-coming train, The hissing of steam, and there, brightly ahead, The gleam of a headlight illumines the rain.

"Down brakes!" shrieks the whistle, defiant and shrill; She heeds the red signal--she slackens, she's still!

Ah! n.o.ble Kate Sh.e.l.ly, your mission is done; Your deed that dark night will not fade from our gaze; An endless renown you have worthily won; Let the nation be just, and accord you its praise, Let your name, let your fame, and your courage declare What a _woman_ can do, and a _woman_ can dare!

_Eugene J. Hall._

There's But One Pair of Stockings to Mend To-Night

An old wife sat by her bright fireside, Swaying thoughtfully to and fro In an easy chair, whose creaky craw Told a tale of long ago; While down by her side, on the kitchen floor, Stood a basket of worsted b.a.l.l.s--a score.

The good man dozed o'er the latest news Till the light in his pipe went out; And, unheeded, the kitten with cunning paws Rolled and tangled the b.a.l.l.s about; Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair, Swaying to and fro in the fire-light glare.

But anon, a misty teardrop came In her eyes of faded blue, Then trickled down in a furrow deep Like a single drop of dew; So deep was the channel--so silent the stream-- That the good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.

Yet marveled he much that the cheerful light Of her eye had heavy grown, And marveled he more at the tangled b.a.l.l.s, So he said in a gentle tone: "I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow, Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."

Then she spoke of the time when the basket there Was filled to the very brim; And now, there remained of the goodly pile But a single pair--for him; "Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"I cannot but think of the busy feet Whose wrappings were wont to lay In the basket, awaiting the needle's time-- Now wandering so far away; How the sprightly steps to a mother dear, Unheeded fell on the careless ear.

"For each empty nook in the basket old By the hearth there's a vacant seat; And I miss the shadows from off the wall, And the patter of many feet; 'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight, At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"'Twas said that far through the forest wild, And over the mountains bold, Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves Were gemmed with the rarest gold; Then my first-born turned from the oaken door-- And I knew the shadows were only four.

"Another went forth on the foaming wave, And diminished the basket's store; But his feet grew cold--so weary and cold, They'll never be warm any more.

And this nook, in its emptiness, seemeth to me To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.

"Two others have gone toward the setting sun, And made them a home in its light, And fairy fingers have taken their share, To mend by the fireside bright; Some other baskets their garments will fill-- But mine, ah, mine is emptier still.

"Another--the dearest, the fairest, the best-- Was taken by angels away, And clad in a garment that waxeth not old, In a land of continual day; Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light, When I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."

The Young Man Waited

In the room below the young man sat, With an anxious face and a white cravat, A throbbing heart and a silken hat, And various other things like that Which he had acc.u.mulated.

And the maid of his heart was up above Surrounded by hat and gown and glove, And a thousand things which women love, But no man knoweth the names thereof-- And the young man sat and--waited.

You will scarce believe the things I tell, But the truth thereof I know full well, Though how may not be stated; But I swear to you that the maiden took A sort of half-breed, thin stove-hook, And heated it well in the gaslight there.