 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
87
A BRAVE DOCTOR.
To the Memory of Doctors Rabbeth and Lysaght.
When with a wreath in hand for hero men
His roll the angel of the judgment calls,
Doctor, thy name, though quite forgot till then,
Shall sound about the city's golden walls.
His roll the angel of the judgment calls,
Doctor, thy name, though quite forgot till then,
Shall sound about the city's golden walls.
There she lay, the rose in her cheek,
Her nostrils wide, and the sweat on her brow.
I have lost my own—I suppose I am weak,
But I never can see a sick child now.
Her nostrils wide, and the sweat on her brow.
I have lost my own—I suppose I am weak,
But I never can see a sick child now.
Her hands were twitching, they dropped her dolly,
Her large eyes followed us round the room,
They were soon to be fixed, poor dear little Polly,
Stifled to death! what a pitiful doom!
Her large eyes followed us round the room,
They were soon to be fixed, poor dear little Polly,
Stifled to death! what a pitiful doom!
88
When the day was closing the doctor came—
Strong big man, but his voice was mild,
He felt her pulse, and he saw the flame
On her cheek, and he said, “Poor child! poor child!”
Strong big man, but his voice was mild,
He felt her pulse, and he saw the flame
On her cheek, and he said, “Poor child! poor child!”
Then the nurse passed by, so grave, with a sponge,
For Polly's eyes had begun to stare,
And a bright thing flashed with a harmless plunge,—
The doctor had given her lungs sweet air!
For Polly's eyes had begun to stare,
And a bright thing flashed with a harmless plunge,—
The doctor had given her lungs sweet air!
I could not look—I had lost my own,
And my heart was there with the four in heaven—
But I heard the doctor say in a tone
I shall never forget, “It's the last chance given.”
And my heart was there with the four in heaven—
But I heard the doctor say in a tone
I shall never forget, “It's the last chance given.”
The lamp burnt low, and her breathing went
And came with a sort of silvery sigh.
“What a beautiful child! I could be content
For such,” the doctor muttered, “to die.”
And came with a sort of silvery sigh.
“What a beautiful child! I could be content
For such,” the doctor muttered, “to die.”
He turned on his heel and he strode away;
“Call me, nurse, if the child cannot rest,
Or the canular blocks: I always say
For a wound like that one must do one's best.”
“Call me, nurse, if the child cannot rest,
Or the canular blocks: I always say
For a wound like that one must do one's best.”
89
It was night; the nurses had gone to bed;
I was watching alone, and I heard a click,
The breathing laboured, her face went red
Then grey, and I summoned the doctor quick.
I was watching alone, and I heard a click,
The breathing laboured, her face went red
Then grey, and I summoned the doctor quick.
The tube is clotted! my God, she is lost!
And the child, with a wonderful meek surmise,
Looked, and I saw as a man at his post
Wavers, then wills, the doctor's eyes.
And the child, with a wonderful meek surmise,
Looked, and I saw as a man at his post
Wavers, then wills, the doctor's eyes.
“Poor little Polly, she's younger than I,”—
I seemed to see such a thought in his face,—
“Should a man for a child's sake fear to die?
What about Christ in such a case?”
I seemed to see such a thought in his face,—
“Should a man for a child's sake fear to die?
What about Christ in such a case?”
Then he stooped his brave strong mouth to the vent,
And he sucked the poisoned canular clear,
And her silvery breathing came and went.
“Nurse, be careful! Good-night! little dear!”
And he sucked the poisoned canular clear,
And her silvery breathing came and went.
“Nurse, be careful! Good-night! little dear!”
So he went to his rest. Good-night! good-night!
But he went with the dread diphtheria ban;
He had given his life for a child. Was it right?
Men called him a fool—God calls him a man.
But he went with the dread diphtheria ban;
He had given his life for a child. Was it right?
Men called him a fool—God calls him a man.
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