Part XV

The family woke up. The first to rise
Is he who had been last to go to sleep.
The mother rises next, and then the boy.
The baby did not wake, still in deep sleep—
Upon their tip-toes they all move around
Their speech is whisper, so their voice break not
The baby's sleep. Poor father, mother, son.
Why move on tip-toes, why this voiceless speech?
Tramp heavily, speak loud and shriek and yell,
Be not afraid, you will not wake her up,
Because the dead no longer hear the noise;
The babe is dead, the babe has starved to death

What can the parents feel.what do they feel
When Death,— their offspring's death,— stares in

their face?
But think of the parent who is made aware
That want of food, that hunger killed his child,
His innocent and beauteous angel babe?
If God endowed me with his right hand's force
Not e'en then might I tell the agony
Which by a thousand claws' most cruel hurts
Made that poor mother's heart profusely bleed?

Leave her alone, leave her to throw herself
Upon the lifeless corpse, to moan, to weep,
From her deep sorrow's deep abyss to heaven
To call, her God with cruelty to charge,
Prostrate herself and deprecate His wrath,
Leave her alone, do not attempt to stop
The wildest outburst of her insane grief.

The man stood speechless, mute his agony

Before the tiny corpse, or was he glad
That she had ceased to suffer hunger's pangs?
The boy amazed was staring at the babe
And thinks that he himself will be as white
And motionless when he too shall be dead
And he too not be hungry any more.
The hours but slowly pass, still time does move
Exhausted — or in faint? — the woman falls
Upon the corpse, her grief is duller now
Her soul's upheaved waves sweep no more the sky
They have more calm become and gently sway
As waves the grain o'er which the zephyr blows.
She takes the dead child to her loving breast
And gently rocks it while a lullaby
She chauds with voice subdued. Her sing-song sounds
Like when in autumn eve the tree tops sigh:
Sleepest darling
Baby dear?
Dreamland's visions

Bright and clear
Do they fill thy

Blissful rest?
Not yet is the

Earth thy nest,
Mother holds thee

To her breast.
Sleep beloved one

Baby dear.
Thou hast been my

Joy and cheer.
Like the sun rays,

Bright and clear
Made us happy

All in here.

From the dawn's kiss

Glows the sky,
With my kisses .

Do I try
Thy pale face to

Beautify.
Once again but

Smile, and I
Will submit and

Cease to cry.

O'er a green grave

A white cross,
There I'll lament

O'er my loss.
Freely flows there,

Not the rain,
Tears thy mother

Can't restrain.

Weeping willows

Cease to moan,
None must mourn here,

I alone.
You may listen

Crown of trees,
To a mother's
Tearful pleas:

Dost thou, dearest

Rest in peace?
Head and heart are

Now at ease?
Is the earth light

O'er thy tomb.
Soft the couch in

Earth's dark womb?
Was it warmer

When thy nest
Was upon thy

Mother's breast?

Sleep well dearest

My heart's dove,
Good night darling;

God above
Keep thee safe, and

Golden bright
Let thy dreams be

Through the night.

And while she does her dead child put to sleep
Herself, at last, falls into slumber deep.
And while she rests the husband ponders o'er
The problem where to get a coffin's price,
The funeral's cost? for he was penniless
What's there at home what he could sell or pledge?
In vain he looks around, there's naught indeed
Of any value left within his home.

What came then to his mind that all at once
He stirred, as if touched by a sudden shock,
Grew deathly pale. He saw the dear, old ring, —
Priceless to him, — the ring once given to him
By her, — that time! — He now must sell the ring,
That not all naked be his child confined
To earth. He now must with his treasure part,
It had been more to him than was the light
Of his two eyes, he now must part from that
Which he had kept through all these years of want.
The thought to part with it his hair turned gray,
In all the world howe'er he had naught else
With which to pay to bury his dead babe.

When from his finger he the ring had drawn,
He felt as if his heart had been torn out,
The past and present had been cut in twain,
Destroyed the bridge twixt winter and the spring
And mashed the stairs on which he in his dreams
From earth to heaven would now and then ascend.
Alas! it must be done, the ring must go,
His child must have a decent burial.

t
His child did have a decent burial.
The coffin was of rosewood, satinlined,
A marble stone was put over the grave.
Ah, well! the ring had brought a goodly price,
And all of it was spent on the deceased.
The father could not think of it to spare
One single cent e'en for a crust of bread
Although indeed they all felt hunger's pangs.
Bread with that money bought would kill, he thought,
Would poisonous be; and he. he had to live,
Live long and work his mission to fulfill.