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THE MOORLAND CHILD.
Upon the bleak and barren moor
I met a wandering child;
Her cheeks were pale, her hair hung lank,
Her sunken eyes gleam'd wild.
I met a wandering child;
Her cheeks were pale, her hair hung lank,
Her sunken eyes gleam'd wild.
“And have you no kind mother, child?”
I ask'd with soften'd tone.
“My mother went away lang syne,
And left me here alone.
I ask'd with soften'd tone.
“My mother went away lang syne,
And left me here alone.
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“'Twas in the winter weather, black,
The night lay on the moor;
The angry winds went howling by
Our creaking cottage door.
The night lay on the moor;
The angry winds went howling by
Our creaking cottage door.
“My mother lay upon her bed,
She shook and shiver'd sore;
She clasp'd me in her trembling arms,
She kissed me o'er and o'er.
She shook and shiver'd sore;
She clasp'd me in her trembling arms,
She kissed me o'er and o'er.
“I knelt beside her on the ground,
I wail'd in bitter sorrow;
The wind without upon the moor
My wailing seem'd to borrow.
I wail'd in bitter sorrow;
The wind without upon the moor
My wailing seem'd to borrow.
“My mother strove to soothe my grief;
But while she spoke, alas!
Across her sunken face I saw
A sudden shadow pass.
But while she spoke, alas!
Across her sunken face I saw
A sudden shadow pass.
“And she fell back, so weak and wan,—
Oh! sir, I never heard
Her voice again, or caught the sound
Of one fond farewell word!
Oh! sir, I never heard
Her voice again, or caught the sound
Of one fond farewell word!
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“The black winds blew—my eyes were dry;
I hush'd my bitter moan,
But I knew that she was gone away,
And I was left alone.
I hush'd my bitter moan,
But I knew that she was gone away,
And I was left alone.
“The black winds blew—the heavy hail
On hill and holt was driven;
But she went up the golden stair,
And through the gate of heaven.
On hill and holt was driven;
But she went up the golden stair,
And through the gate of heaven.
“They bore her to the churchyard grave;
The little daisies love it;
But I never sit the mound beside,
Nor shed a tear above it.
The little daisies love it;
But I never sit the mound beside,
Nor shed a tear above it.
“My mother is not there; in dreams,
When winter woods are hoary,
I see her on the golden stair,
Beside the gate of glory.
When winter woods are hoary,
I see her on the golden stair,
Beside the gate of glory.
“Her eyes are calm, her forehead shines,
Amid the heav'nly splendour;
On earth her face was kind, but ne'er
Wore smiles so sweet and tender.
Amid the heav'nly splendour;
On earth her face was kind, but ne'er
Wore smiles so sweet and tender.
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And, sir, one night, not long ago,—
December storms were beating,—
I heard her voice, so fond and dear,
Float down, my name repeating.
December storms were beating,—
I heard her voice, so fond and dear,
Float down, my name repeating.
“The fir-trees rock'd upon the hill,
And blast to blast was calling—
She said, ‘The earth is dark and drear;
Come home, come home, my darling!’
And blast to blast was calling—
She said, ‘The earth is dark and drear;
Come home, come home, my darling!’
“The black winds blew—the heavy hail
On hill and holt was driven—
She said, ‘Come up the golden stair,
And through the gate of heaven!’
On hill and holt was driven—
She said, ‘Come up the golden stair,
And through the gate of heaven!’
“And soon, oh soon!”—but here her speech
Broke off; a sudden lightness
Pass'd o'er the child's pale cheek and brow,
As with a sunbeam's brightness,
Broke off; a sudden lightness
Pass'd o'er the child's pale cheek and brow,
As with a sunbeam's brightness,
And she went wand'ring o'er the moor
Low crooning some wild ditty;—
God's calm, I said, be on her shed,
And God's exceeding pity!
Low crooning some wild ditty;—
God's calm, I said, be on her shed,
And God's exceeding pity!
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