HIGHER
THE shadows of night were a-comin' down swift,
And the dazzlin' snow lay drift on drift,
As thro' a village a youth did go,
A-carryin' a flag with this motto,—
O'er a forehead high curled copious hair,
His nose a Roman, complexion fair,
O'er an eagle eye an auburn lash,
And he never stopped shoutin' thro' his moustache!
"Higher!"
He saw thro' the windows as he kept gettin' upper
A number of families sittin' at supper,
But he eyes the slippery rocks very keen
And fled as he cried, and cried while a fleein'—
"Higher!"
"Take care you there!" said an old woman; "stop!
It's blowing gales up there on top—
You'll tumble off on t'other side!"
But the hurryin' stranger loud replied,
"Higher!"
"Oh! don't you go up such a shocking night,
Come sleep on my lap," said a maiden bright.
On his Roman nose a tear-drop come,
But still he remarked, as he upward clomb,
"Higher!"
"Look out for the branch of that sycamore-tree!
Dodge rolling stones, if any you see!"
Sayin' which the farmer went home to bed
And the singular voice replied overhead,
About quarter past six the next afternoon,
A man accidentally goin' up soon,
Heard spoken above him as often as twice
The very same word in a very weak voice,
"Higher!"
And not far, I believe, from quarter of seven—
He was slow gettin' up, the road bein' uneven—
Found the stranger dead in the drifted snow,
Still clutchin' the flag with the motto—
Higher!
Yes! lifeless, defunct, without any doubt,
The lamp of life being decidedly out,
On the dreary hillside the youth was a layin'!
And there was no more use for him to be sayin'
"Higher!"
Anonymous.