 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
52
AT LAST
A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot
The firmament; and where the moon has been
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot.
The weird wind—furious at its demon game—
Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot
The firmament; and where the moon has been
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot.
The weird wind—furious at its demon game—
Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.
A care-worn face peers out into the dark,
And childish faces—frightened at the gloom—
Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark
The father's as he passes through the room:
The gate latch clatters, and wee baby Bess
Whispers, “The doctor's tummin' now, I dess!”
And childish faces—frightened at the gloom—
Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark
The father's as he passes through the room:
The gate latch clatters, and wee baby Bess
Whispers, “The doctor's tummin' now, I dess!”
The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain
Flits o'er his face: “Amanda, child! I said
A moment since—I see I must again—
Go take your little sisters off to bed!
There, Effie, Rose, and Clara mustn't cry!”
“I tan't he'p it—I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!”
Flits o'er his face: “Amanda, child! I said
A moment since—I see I must again—
Go take your little sisters off to bed!
There, Effie, Rose, and Clara mustn't cry!”
“I tan't he'p it—I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!”
53
What are his feelings, when this man alone
Sits in the silence, glaring in the grate
That sobs and sighs on in an undertone
As stoical—immovable as Fate,
While muffled voices from the sick one's room
Come in like heralds of a dreaded doom?
Sits in the silence, glaring in the grate
That sobs and sighs on in an undertone
As stoical—immovable as Fate,
While muffled voices from the sick one's room
Come in like heralds of a dreaded doom?
The door-latch jingles: in the doorway stands
The doctor, while the draft puffs in a breath—
The dead coals leap to life, and clap their hands,
The flames flash up. A face as pale as death
Turns slowly—teeth tight clenched, and with a look
The doctor, through his specs, reads like a book.
The doctor, while the draft puffs in a breath—
The dead coals leap to life, and clap their hands,
The flames flash up. A face as pale as death
Turns slowly—teeth tight clenched, and with a look
The doctor, through his specs, reads like a book.
“Come, brace up, Mayor!”—“Let me know the worst!”
“W'y you're the biggest fool I ever saw—
Here, Major—take a little brandy first—
There! She's a boy—I mean he is—hurrah!”
“Wake up the other girls—and shout for joy—
Eureka is his name—I've found A BOY!”
“W'y you're the biggest fool I ever saw—
Here, Major—take a little brandy first—
There! She's a boy—I mean he is—hurrah!”
“Wake up the other girls—and shout for joy—
Eureka is his name—I've found A BOY!”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |