University of Virginia Library


242

THE YOUNG STREET SINGER.

How sad!—to hear a song of mirth
Sung in the homeless street,
By one in melancholy dearth
Of clothes, and food to eat,
Or place beside the poorest hearth
For bare and blistered feet.
Some tones of softness still retains
This worn and feeble voice,
That once, perhaps, in hawthorn lanes
Helped spring-time to rejoice;
Not then impelled by hunger-pains,
But childhood's merry choice.
Mayhap the mother little thought
Her darling and her pride,
Portioned with but the songs she taught,

245

Must face the world so wide,
And give the starving outcast's lot
A speech so unallied.
How weary are the unknown ways,
How sharp the pitiless stones,
What haughty heads the houses raise
From one whom no one owns.
Whose mouth is singing lively lays,
Whose heart is utt'ring groans!
The careless window's happy glow
Displays the lighted room,
The very pools of rain below
The ruddy tint assume;
But not a ray doth it bestow
To cheer the wanderer's gloom.
Save that a petty hope has strayed
Into the aching breast:
Nor be the slender fee delayed.
But may thy weary quest
Alight on more effectual aid;
Or may'st thou soon find rest!