Part II

Through all the world the deepest silence reigns,
Within the room death's deepest calm obtains.
Without, the autumn wind the air has stirred,
Within, the mother's woeful sigh is heard.

The little boy, arising in the bed,

Leans to the wall his weary, aching head;
With tearful voice, as came it from the grave,
Begins now for something to eat to crave.
"I am so hungry, father dear, oh, please,
Give me some bread my hunger to appease.
I tried to sleep; believe me, I have tried
With sleep my hungry state from you to hide.
Oh! give me please, or show me but a piece,
E'en the sight of bread might my hunger ease."
"Wait till to-morrow morn, my darling boy.
Thou shallt a piece of white bread then enjoy,
White bread, baked with the sweet milk of the cow."
"I rather have a crust of black bread now,
Than, father dear, to-morrow any kind.
That I am dead, to-morrow, you might find.
I'm dying now; to-morrow 's far away.
You 've said "to-morrow" now many a day,
'Tis always but to-day, and hungry I.
Oh, tell me father dear, when once we die.
Still hungry we when in the grave we lie?"
"No, darling child, oh no!
The dead no hunger know."
"Then, father dear, it is best dead to be,
Then father, find a white coffin for me.
Let it be white as is my mother's face,
And carry me to that good resting place
Where the happy dead.
Hunger not for bread."
Who says that children are but innocent?
Where is the dagger, where .the sword, that sent
To human heart a wound so sore, —
And pierced it to its very core, —
As did to the poor father's heart
The son's complaint? No stabbing dart
Could make it bleed so free, as did
That speech. Oh! how he tried to bid
His heart to keep still, but in vain!
He can't his ardent tears retain.
So burning they, that with a start
He puts his hand up to 'his face.
To see, is it blood of his heart
That spurted there. Not in the days
Of bitter woe did he complain.
But now, resentment which had' lain
Dormant' for years, breaks forth: Oh, God!
Why dids't thou mould me from the clod,
Why not have left me in a state
Of nothingness? Why dids't create
This body and this soul, which long
To be but dust again? How wrong
That I, according to Thy plan,
Have offspring, but being a man
Cannot, as can the Pelican,
My children with my heart's-blood feed?
I dare not in this strain proceed,
I bow, my God, it is Thy deed!
We men are blind, Thy plans divine
Man cannot grasp, and Thy design
We must not judge. Into this sea
Of life to put me hath pleased Thee,
And, as a magnet, to control
My life, thou gavest me a soul.
I bow and I obey! — Here, boy,
Here is a slice of bread. — Enjoy
It now; it is the last; God knows
What wilt thou then to-morrow eat."
And eagerly the boy arose
And ate that slice of bread so sweet.
What did he care that it was dry?
As shines at night the flitting firefly
So shone with bliss the boy's bright eye.
When with his feast the boy was through
He promptly went to sleep anew;
Sleep came with ease, as comes the mist
Over the vale the dawn hath kissed.
And lying down in his wont place,
He sleeps and dreams, a smile his face
Lights up. What dream might he have had?
Of death? or did he dream of bread?
The mother had gone on to weep,
Until she also fell asleep
She laid down first the baby too,
Her arm around her children threw,...
And sleeps and dreams her woes subdue.
The husband from his seat arose.
On tiptoes to the bed he goes,
With folded arms he casts his eye
O'er those he loves. Then with a sigh
He says: — as were he thinking loud. —
"At last, my dears, nature allowed
Sweet, soothing sleep to come to you.
Ah! dream-life has a rosy hue.
Asleep you are freed of the weight
You had to bear by curse of fate.
Good God! That sleep should love them more
Than I! Sleep had for them in store
Sweet 'happiness, which I could not
Secure to them as their life's lot.
But let it pass, — they're happy now,
Peace, blissful peace is on each brow,
It is a beauteous sight.
Beloved ones, good night!"
And then he kissed the foreheads of the three,
They are his home-life's holy Trinity.
His hands he raiseth his dear ones to bless
(Ah! that his hands naught else to give possess!)
He then returns to his abandoned seat.
Once more he casts his eye over his sweet
Group on the bed, — such tender, loving gaze
That, though asleep, it yet to them conveys
Dreams where an angel with fair roses plays.
And then he looked into the gloomy night.
His look is bold: it seemed as with the bright
Look he had tried the night to fill with light.