Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

‘A noble instance of self-sacrifice was witnessed at Newcastle on Sunday (May 31). While four children were playing on the railway near the station an engine and tender came up. One little fellow ran for the platform, and his example was followed by his elder sister. Looking back, however, she saw that the other two children were in imminent danger. She returned to them, and drew them to her side, between the rails and the platform. As the engine passed, the connecting-rod struck her

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down, and she died in a few moments. The children she had so nobly protected escaped almost unhurt. The name of this heroic little maiden was Margaret Wilson, daughter of a miner.’ —Daily News, June 3, 1868.

Four children at their little play
Across the iron-furrow'd way;
Joyous in all the joy of May.

Three, babies; and one, Margaret,
In charge upon the others set
To lift and soothe them if they fret.

The sky is blue; the sun is bright;
The little voices, pure and light,
Make music as they laugh outright.

The noiseless weight of giant wheels
Amongst them in a moment steals,
And death is rolling at their heels.

She ran with one to reach the side,
And reach'd it, and look'd back, and spied,
Where the dark wheels right towards them slide,

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The other two, that were forgot,
Playing by Death, and knowing not;—
And drew them to the narrow spot

Between the rails and platform-side,
Safe nestling down;—but as they glide
The wheel-rods struck her, and she died.

By those she died for there she lay,
Nor any word could Margaret say,
But closed her eyes, and pass'd away.

—My little heroine! though I ne'er
Can look upon thy features fair,
Nor kiss the lips that mangled were:

Too small a thing from Fame to have
A portion with the great and brave,
And unknown in thy lowly grave:

Yet thy true heart, and fearless faith,
And agony of love in death
God saw, and he remembereth.