THE FOUR TRAVELLERS.

One said for bread, and one for gold,
And one for a cause of strife ;

And one he came for a lost love's sake,
To lead a stranger's life.

They dwelt among our hamlets long,
They learned each mountain way;

They shared our sports in the woodlands green,
And by the crags so gay.—

And they were brave by flood and fell,
And they were blithe in hall;

But he that led the stranger's life
Was blithest of them all.

Some said the grief of his youth had passed,

Some said his love grew cold;

But naught I know if this were so,

For the tale was never told.

His mates they found both homes and friends
Their heads and hearts to rest;

We saw their flocks and fields increase,
But we loved him still the best.

Now he that came to seek for bread
Is lord of my father's land;
And he that fled so far from strife
Hath a goodly household band.

And he that sought the gold alone
Hath wedded my sister fair;

And the oaks are green and the pastures wide
By their pleasant homesteads there.

But when they meet by the winter fire,
Or beneath the bright woodbine,
Their talk is yet of a whelming stream
And a brave life given for mine;

281

282

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

For a grave by our mountain river side
Grows green this many a year-

Where the flower of the four sleeps evermore,
And I am a stranger here.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

THE snow, the beautiful snow!
Filling the sky and the earth below:

Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing, flirting, skimming along,
Beautiful snow! It does no wrong,
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
Beautiful snow from the heaven above,
Pure as an angel, as gentle as love!

O the snow, the beautiful snow!
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one;

Chasing, laughing, hurrying by,

It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye!
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around:
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye;
Ringing, swinging, dashing they go,
Over the crest of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,

To be trampled in mud by the crowd passing by,
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet,
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.

THE ENGLISH FACTORY GIRL'S LAST DAY. 283

Once I was pure as the snow-but I fell!
Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell:
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street:
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat:
Pleading, cursing, dreading to die,
Selling my soul to whoever would buy,
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living and fearing the dead:
Merciful God! have I fallen so low?
And yet I was once like the beautiful snow.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,

With an eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow :
Once I was loved for my innocent grace-
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face:
Father, mother, sisters all,

God, and myself, I have lost by my fall.
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by
Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh;
For all that is on or above me, I know,

There is nothing as pure as the beautiful snow.

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go?

How strange it should be, when the night comes again,
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain,

Fainting, freezing, dying alone,

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan

To be heard in the crazy town,

Gone mad in the joy of snow coming down;

To lie and to die in my terrible woe,

With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow.

THE ENGLISH FACTORY GIRL'S LAST DAY.

WAS on a Winter morning,

"TWA

The weather wet and wild,

Three hours before the dawning
The father roused his child;

284 THE ENGLISH FACTORY GIRL'S LAST DAY.

Her daily morsel bringing,

The darksome room he paced,
And cried, "The bell is ringing—
My hapless darling, haste!"

"Father, I'm up, but weary,
I scarce can reach the door-
And long the way and dreary,
Oh, carry me once more.
To help us we've no mother,
You no employment nigh;
They've killed my little brother-
Like him, I'll work and die."

Her wasted form seemed nothing,
The load was at his heart;
The sufferer he kept soothing
Till at the mill they part.
The overlooker met her

As to her frame she crept,
And with his thong he struck her,
And cursed her as she wept.

Alas! what hours of sorrow

Made up her last sad day;
Those hours that brought no morrow
Too slowly passed away.

It seemed, as she grew weaker,
The threads she oftener broke,
The rapid wheels ran quicker,
And heavier fell the stroke.

And with the weary spinning
Her thread of life was spun;

Again the bell is ringing,
Her daily task is done.
She left, but oft she tarried,

She fell, and rose no more,
Till, by her comrades carried,
She reached her father's door.

THE DREAMER.

All night, with tortured feeling,
He watched his speechless child;
And close beside her kneeling,

She knew him not nor smiled.
Again the factory's ringing,

Her last perception tried,

When from her straw couch springing,
""Tis time," she shrieked, and died.

That night a chariot passed her
While on the ground she lay;
The daughters of her master
An evening visit pay.
Their tender hearts were sighing
As negro wrongs were told,
While the white slave was dying
Who earned their father's gold.

285

THE DREAMER.

OT in the laughing bowers,

Where, by green twining elms, a pleasant shade

At Summer's noon is made;

And where swift-footed hours

Steal the rich breath of the enamored flowers,

Dream I. Nor where the golden glories be,
At sunset laving o'er the flowing sea,

And to pure eyes the faculty is given

To trace the smooth ascent from earth to heaven.

Not on the couch of ease,

With all the appliances of joy at hand;

Soft light, sweet fragrance, beauty at command,
Viands that might a godlike palate please;

And music's soul-creative ecstasies,

Dream I. Nor gloating o'er a wide estate,
Till the full complacent heart, elate,
Well satisfied with bliss of mortal birth,
Sighs for an immortality on earth.