He tells her of the day’s success, Of incidents both grave and gay, The dandy’s hat that flew away, And wind-tossed ladies in distress. The widow gazes while he speaks; Another voice in his she hears, Another face in his appears, And holy are the silent tears That trickle down her pallid cheeks.
But other parents, different far, Await the News-boy, and purloin The little fellow’s honest coin To spend at some pernicious bar; They think not how, with weary tread, All day the child has nobly striven To merit praise;—with curses driven, A scanty supper, harshly given, He weeps within his little bed.
The angels heed his lowly state, And pity him, and kindly weave A destiny which none perceive, Save those at the celestial gate. Then give, my brothers, words of cheer To waft the News-boy on his way; His country, at some future day, May learn his name, and proudly say:— Of noblest men he is the peer.
[9] This was written in the early days of telegraphing, when the News-boy delighted to proclaim that his papers, sparkled with intelligence, flashed along the electric wire.
CHARLES HEAVYSEGE.
A man of worth, a man of mind, Has bade farewell to human kind. No pomp, no sound of muffled drum, No multitudes’ uncertain hum Has stirred the air; but stifled sighs, And gleaming tears and shaded eyes Are tokens of a reverence felt For one who to the Muses knelt, In fealty with noblest vow, And rose with garland on his brow.
So child-like, modest, reticent, With head in meditation bent, He walked our streets!—and no one knew That something of celestial hue Had passed along; a toil-worn man Was seen, no more; the fire that ran Electric through his veins and wrought Sublimity of soul and thought, And kindled into song, no eye Beheld until a foreign sky[10] Reflected back the wondrous light, And heralded the poet’s might.
Though doomed to less of sun than shade, No weak complaint he ever made; But bravely lived, content to let The great world roar, and fume, and fret. In visions of the days of eld He revelled, and in joy beheld The glory of the Hebrew sages, Whose utterance has toned the ages. The sacred mount, the cave, the stream Where holy seers were wont to dream, He knew and loved, and summoned thence The agents of Omnipotence; Fantastic sprites, and buried men To fight gray battles o’er again. Behold dread Samuel’s shade appear! Behold Goliath’s mighty spear! And lithe-limbed David’s sling and stone, And Saul’s fierce madness; one by one They rise before us, march, or stand, Obedient to the Poet’s wand.