 | Poems |  |
Yet was she speaking; but the cry of joy
Burst from the bosom of the dying boy.
His eager finger pointed to the plain,
His eye had light, his cheek its life again.
“Look, mother! look! we will not die to-day;
“Look where the water glistens! come away!”
Burst from the bosom of the dying boy.
His eager finger pointed to the plain,
His eye had light, his cheek its life again.
“Look, mother! look! we will not die to-day;
“Look where the water glistens! come away!”
| Poems | |