 | The Poetical Works of Eliza Cook |  |
THE VIOLET-BOY.
'Twas on a day in early spring,
Before the butterfly took wing;
Before the bee was seen about,
Or sleepy dormouse ventured out.
Grey clouds shut in the sky of blue;
The sunshine tried to struggle through;
The wind was angry in its gust,
Bearing a load of blinding dust;
April was growing somewhat old;
But yet 'twas cold; oh, very cold!
Before the butterfly took wing;
Before the bee was seen about,
Or sleepy dormouse ventured out.
Grey clouds shut in the sky of blue;
The sunshine tried to struggle through;
The wind was angry in its gust,
Bearing a load of blinding dust;
April was growing somewhat old;
But yet 'twas cold; oh, very cold!
A tiny boy, with pallid face,
Stood in the city's thickest place;
His limbs were lank as limbs could be,
His tattered garments sad to see;
A basket on his arm he bore,
Which gave to sight a little store
Of violets in bunches spread;
Fresh gathered from their native bed.
Their perfume scarcely lived at all,
Their purple heads were very small,
Their leaves were pinched and shrivelled in,
Their stalks were turning dry and thin:
'Twas very, very cold spring weather,
And Boy and Flowers seemed starved together.
Stood in the city's thickest place;
His limbs were lank as limbs could be,
His tattered garments sad to see;
A basket on his arm he bore,
Which gave to sight a little store
Of violets in bunches spread;
Fresh gathered from their native bed.
Their perfume scarcely lived at all,
Their purple heads were very small,
Their leaves were pinched and shrivelled in,
Their stalks were turning dry and thin:
'Twas very, very cold spring weather,
And Boy and Flowers seemed starved together.
For many an hour his tired feet
Paced up and down the crowded street,
And many a time his moistened eye
Looked at the wealthy passers-by,
Without one fellow-creature staying
To list the sad words he was saying.
At last, a gentle lady stopped,
For she had seen a tear that dropped;
She gazed upon his cheek so pale,
And heard him tell this simple tale.
Paced up and down the crowded street,
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Looked at the wealthy passers-by,
Without one fellow-creature staying
To list the sad words he was saying.
At last, a gentle lady stopped,
For she had seen a tear that dropped;
She gazed upon his cheek so pale,
And heard him tell this simple tale.
“Oh, lady, buy my violets, pray!
For I have walked a weary way;
Long miles I trod before I found
The primrose bank and violet mound.
I'm hungry, penniless, and cold;
My flowers will fade before they're sold:
I've not touched food since yesterday;
Oh, lady, buy my violets, pray!”
For I have walked a weary way;
Long miles I trod before I found
The primrose bank and violet mound.
I'm hungry, penniless, and cold;
My flowers will fade before they're sold:
I've not touched food since yesterday;
Oh, lady, buy my violets, pray!”
The child was telling mournful truth,
He had no friends to guard his youth;
And there he stood, with roofless head
And whitened lips that prayed for bread.
The gentle lady gave him pence,
And kindly bade him hasten hence
And purchase food.—The hungry boy
Looked up with gratitude and joy;
And fast and eagerly he went,
And honestly the mite was spent.
He had no friends to guard his youth;
And there he stood, with roofless head
And whitened lips that prayed for bread.
The gentle lady gave him pence,
And kindly bade him hasten hence
And purchase food.—The hungry boy
Looked up with gratitude and joy;
And fast and eagerly he went,
And honestly the mite was spent.
It chanced, the lady strolling back
Upon the very self-same track;
Espied him sitting low and lone
Upon a seat of humble stone.
Devouring with an earnest zeal
The simple loaf that formed his meal;
And as he ate his relished fare,
'Twas plain he'd not a bit to spare.
Upon the very self-same track;
Espied him sitting low and lone
Upon a seat of humble stone.
Devouring with an earnest zeal
The simple loaf that formed his meal;
And as he ate his relished fare,
'Twas plain he'd not a bit to spare.
A dog—a lean and famished brute,
Most sadly eloquent,—though mute,
Just at that moment dared to come
And watch for any falling crumb.
His ribs stood plainly through his hide,
And fearfully he crouched beside
The violet-boy, as though in dread
Of getting blows instead of bread.
The boy looked down upon the beast,
And for an instant stayed his feast;
But soon he spoke in coaxing tones,
Patting the creature's staring bones.
Most sadly eloquent,—though mute,
Just at that moment dared to come
And watch for any falling crumb.
His ribs stood plainly through his hide,
And fearfully he crouched beside
The violet-boy, as though in dread
Of getting blows instead of bread.
The boy looked down upon the beast,
And for an instant stayed his feast;
But soon he spoke in coaxing tones,
Patting the creature's staring bones.
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Then lured him close, and gave him part
Of what had cheered his own young heart.
He gave the poor dog many a bit,
Without one thought of grudging it;
Though he himself was hungry still,
And had not eaten half his fill.
And so—not knowing who had seen them—
The bread of life was shared between them.
Of what had cheered his own young heart.
He gave the poor dog many a bit,
Without one thought of grudging it;
Though he himself was hungry still,
And had not eaten half his fill.
And so—not knowing who had seen them—
The bread of life was shared between them.
The lady, who had marked the deed,
Now walked toward the child of need;
And asked him why he gave away
His bread, that might have served the day?
Now walked toward the child of need;
And asked him why he gave away
His bread, that might have served the day?
“An hour ago,” the boy replied,
“You gave me money when I cried;
And had compassion when I sought
The food your kindly mercy brought.
This poor dog came to ask of me,
As I before had craved of thee;
I'd suffered long the bitter woe
The cold and starving only know,
And lady, say, what could I do?
For he was cold and starving too!”
“You gave me money when I cried;
And had compassion when I sought
The food your kindly mercy brought.
This poor dog came to ask of me,
As I before had craved of thee;
I'd suffered long the bitter woe
The cold and starving only know,
And lady, say, what could I do?
For he was cold and starving too!”
The lady smiled and rightly guessed
There must be good in such a breast;
That 'mid all sorrow Want could bring
Still helped a dumb and friendless thing.
She questioned him,—and all he told
Did but the mournful truth unfold:
His father in the churchyard lying,
His mother on her straw bed, dying;
His only brother gone to sea,
And none on earth who cared to be
Acquainted with a wretched tale,
That only breathed in doleful wail.
There must be good in such a breast;
That 'mid all sorrow Want could bring
Still helped a dumb and friendless thing.
She questioned him,—and all he told
Did but the mournful truth unfold:
His father in the churchyard lying,
His mother on her straw bed, dying;
His only brother gone to sea,
And none on earth who cared to be
Acquainted with a wretched tale,
That only breathed in doleful wail.
She sought him out—she had him taught
To live as honest people ought;
To gladly work—to wisely read,
To spend and save with prudent heed;
She found a good man to employ
The little, pallid, starving boy;
And amply did his work repay
Her charity, that cold, Spring day.
To live as honest people ought;
To gladly work—to wisely read,
To spend and save with prudent heed;
She found a good man to employ
The little, pallid, starving boy;
And amply did his work repay
Her charity, that cold, Spring day.
That boy may now be often seen
In comely garments, neat and clean,
With rosy cheeks, and bounding feet
Pacing that very city street:
And sometimes, in his leisure hours,
He goes among the fields and flowers;
And then an old dog trots along,
With ribs well covered, sleek and strong,
And licks his hand, and seems to know
It saved him starving, long ago.
In comely garments, neat and clean,
With rosy cheeks, and bounding feet
Pacing that very city street:
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He goes among the fields and flowers;
And then an old dog trots along,
With ribs well covered, sleek and strong,
And licks his hand, and seems to know
It saved him starving, long ago.
Perchance that boy may some time be
A merchant of a high degree;
Perchance, he may not gather wealth,—
Content with Happiness and Health;
But this is sure, that come what may
Of Peace or Fortune in his way,
His happiness or rank will spring
Through mercy to a poor, dumb thing.
A merchant of a high degree;
Perchance, he may not gather wealth,—
Content with Happiness and Health;
But this is sure, that come what may
Of Peace or Fortune in his way,
His happiness or rank will spring
Through mercy to a poor, dumb thing.
| The Poetical Works of Eliza Cook | |