Classic Poem

DACTYLICS .

Weary way-wanderer, languid and sick at heart,
Travelling painfully over the rugged road,
Wild-visaged Wanderer! God help thee, wretched one!

Sorely thy little one drags by thee barefooted;
Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back,
Meagre, and livid, and screaming for misery.

Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony,
As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe,
Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy haggard face.

Ne'er will thy husband return from the war again,
Cold is thy heart, and as frozen as Charity!
Cold are thy children. — Now God be thy comforter!