Classic Poem

Nine by the Cathedral clock:
Chill the air with noxious damps;
Lonesomely from block to block
In the gloom the bellman tramps.
“O—yes! O—yes!
Child lost! blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,—
Child lost! O—yes!”

Hushed by the pathetic cry,
Mirth subdues the rising jest,
And a deep, responsive sigh
Saddens gentle pity's breast.

Many a loving father's heart
Throbs with home-remembering pain;
Tears to many an eyelid start,
Summoned by the mournful strain.

As the voice forlorn they hear,
Tremulous with love's alarms,
Mothers clasp their children dear
Closer in protecting arms.

Ten the old Cathedral sounds;
Rain is drizzling in the streets;
Still the bellman goes his rounds,
Still the doleful cry repeats:
“O—yes! O—yes!
Child lost! blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,—
Child lost! O—yes!”

“Can't my little one be found?
Are there any tidings, friend?
Is she stolen? Is she drowned?
Heaven protect her and defend!

“Search the common, search the park,
Search the doorways and the halls,
Search the alleys foul and dark,
Search the empty market-stalls!

“Here is gold and silver. See!
Take it all and welcome, men;
Only find my child for me,
Give her to my arms again!”

Hark! the old Cathedral bell
Peals E LEVEN , and it sounds
To the mother like a knell;
Still the bellman goes his rounds.
“O—yes! O—yes!
Child lost! blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,—
Child lost! O—yes!”

Sleepers, half-awakened, deem
That the lonesome, midnight call,
Startling silence, is a dream,
And to deeper slumber fall.

But the wailing mother cries,
“Oh! my darling's curling hair,
Oh! her sweetly smiling eyes—
Have you sought them everywhere?

“Anguish—agony of dread—
Breaks my heart and drives me wild!
What if Minnie should be dead!
Oh, my God! bring home my child!”

T WELVE by the Cathedral clock.
Dimly flare the midnight lamps;
Drearily from block to block
In the rain the bellman tramps.
“O—yes! O—yes!
Child lost! blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,—
Child lost! O—yes!”

Wanes the night and dawns the day;
Frenzied mother, weep no more;
Listen! Minnie's laughter gay!
See her bounding through the door!

“Mother, kiss me—I am here,—
Safe I slept in Lackey's Mill;
Was not that a bedroom queer?”
Sits the mother white and still.

“Mother, you are scared, I know,
For your fingers shake in mine!
Do not moan and whisper so!—
And your eyes so strangely shine!”

Palsied with a dumb affright,
Minnie totters, faints, and falls;
Staring toward the morning light,
Wild the maniac mother calls:
“O—yes! O—yes!
Child lost! blue eyes,
Curly hair, pink dress,—
Child lost! O—yes!”