POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2097, 12 November 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

LOST IN THE STORM. J The Stoet toed in the Yeenaouiar by the Host. BY BOSES HAKTWICK THOEPE. “ Walk in, walk right in, you’re welcome; Whew! how the wind whistles about Take a chair close to the fire, sir ; It’s a bad sort o’ night to be out. You saw our light through the darkness And thought you would come ? That is right. Somehow my heart’s warmer and softer On ev’ry such blustrin’ night. “ Here, take a good drink from the bottle ’Twill warm yon. You won’t ? Why not? You look like you’re needin o’ somethin’ And this is the best I’ve got. Well, wife, just you get out some victuals, And make a strong cup of tea. And while she’s getting ’em ready You’ll take a good smoke with me ? “ That’s right, it seems kind o’ friendly And brotherly like, I think— By th’ way, stranger, ’tisn’t often That a man refuses to drink ! But just as you like. Hear the wind, sir, A tearin like all possessed, As though all the demons o’ darkness Were troubled and couldn’t rest. “ You seem sort o’ pale like and nervous, Your walk was too much, I think ; Come to look, you’re white as a ghost, sir ; Seems to me you’d better drink. Well, well I won’t urge you, but really— What’s that you’re sayin’—this night With its storm makes you think of another And the mem’ry saddens you quite ? “ It must ha’ been somethin’ dreadful To make you so tremble, I think ; You don’t say, you lost wife and baby, And all through the demon o’ drink ? I own I thought it was queer like, For ’most ev’ry one drinks, you know, And I couldn’t see why the tearin’ 1 O’ the storm should trouble you so.

“ Mayhap if you'd tell me the story, ’Twould ease up your mind a bit. ’Twas just such a night as this one—’Tain’fc likely I’ll ever forgit— That our blessing came, and somehow When the wind and storm are abroad, There’s a queer kind o’ feelin’ in here A sort o’ thanksgiving to God. " I don’t take much stock in preachers, Can’t say I believe in a hell; Love God ? Why bless you, sir, sometimes My thoughts are too precious to tell. When the long day’s work is over, And I sit by the fire at night— What’s that you’re sayin’? Oh surely I couldn’t a’ heard you right. “ I wasn't more’n halfway listenin’— I’s thinking o’ Dolly, you see. Did you say that your wife went somewhere, And you dropped in after tea ? That she went home kind o’ early— But they urged you to stay a spell, You told her you’d bring the baby, And see 'twas bundled up well.

“ At last the wine you’d been drinkin’ Had somehow got into your head ; The wind and the atorm were dreadful When you started for home you said ? See here, stranger, ’twasn’t near Alta, Just five years ago to-night ? I’m thinkin’ o’ that place always, So I couldn’t ha’ heard you right. “It was ? And the baby yon held it And staggered on through the snow, Four brain growin’ drowsy and dizzy ; And that is the last you know Of that night and the storm, till some one Found you there crazy and wild, And carried you home ; but surely Now, didn’t they find the child ? “No ? Well, I might ’a known it, From the first somethin* told me ’twas so. You say some wild beast had got it, There were tracks all about in the snow. Stranger, see here, if a fellow ; A poor sort o’ fellow, you see, Found a purse of gold that its owner Thought he had lost in the sea, “ And then he should meet with that owner, Do you think it would be a sin Just to keep it ? when he who lost it Thought never to see it agin ? You do ? Well, go on with your story, Your wife? Might ’a known she went wild And told you not to come nigh her. Agin till you brought back her child. " Five years sad hearted and lonely, Five years you’ve be’n wav.d’rin’ about, Ah, well! to me they’ve be’n happy; Yes, wife, go bring Dolly out. I see my way clear to duty, When she’s right here on my knee; Her white arms dingin’ about me, I’m a little faint hearted you see.

“ Come here little Dolly, my baby, Give daddy one more kiss, and then I’m a better man than without her, I could ever hoped to ’a’b’en. Now here is my story, don’t cry, wife. It’s tough, but it’s right, you know. That night, sir, ridin’ from Alta, I was cursin’ the wind and snow. “ When my horse stumbled right over something, And when I got off to see, ’Twas a dead man, leastways I thought so, And a child that smiled at me. I unbuttoned my coat and laid it In here away from the storm, And somehow, from that very minnit. My heart’s be’n soft like and warm. “ We were cornin’ west, so we kept it : ’Twan’t ours, and wo might a’ known We’d some day get punished for keepin’ The gold that wasn’t our own : And while you were tellin’ your story The Devil kept whisperin’ to me ‘ Don’t tell him ; he never will know it; He thinks the child dead, you see.’ “ But I just had to—that baby With her ’cute ways has changed me quite; Once I didn’t care a copper, sir. If a thing were wrong or right, But now—well, here is your baby; Her loss cured you of your sin. Lost in the storm, the storm drove you Bight here to find her agin.”