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stirred. The thin shawl had dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simmons turned over and drew his blanket more closely about him.
Oh, how cold! Only one lamp remained, burning dimly; the other two had gone out for want of oil. I could hardly see, it was so dark.
At last she became quieter and ceased to moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of lost the run of things after I had struck twelve, when some one entered the depot with a bright light. I started up. It was the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to fill the room full of glory. I could see 'twas a man. He walked to the kneeling figure and touched her upon the shoulder. She started up and turned her face wildly around. I heard him say:
“ 'Tis train time, ma'am. Come!”
She reached him a worn old book, which he took, and from it read aloud:
“Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest."
“That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you ready?”
The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. My hand touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke with a start and snatched his lantern. The whistle sounded down brakes; the train was due. He ran to the corner and shook the old
“Wake up, marm; 'tis train time.”
But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white set face, and, dropping his lantern, fled.
The up train halted, the conductor shouted “All aboard,” but no one made a move that way.
The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he found her frozen to death. They whispered among themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict “apoplexy,” and it was in some way hushed up.
But the last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me yet; and when I think of the occurrence of that night, I know she went out on the other train, that never stopped at the poorhouse.
Of all the bonny buds that blow,
In bright or cloudy weather,
The whole twelve moons together,
Who used to give me posies;
His lips were red as roses;
Made little jealous speeches,
His biggest plums and peaches,
“The mighty fascination
To win such admiration;
"Am I your little heart's-ease, then?"
I asked with blushing pleasure. He answered “Yes !” and “Yes !” again
“Heart's-ease and dearest treasure;' That the round world and all the sea Held nothing half so sweet as me!
I listened with a proud delight,
Too rare for words to capture, Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight,
Would come to chill my rapture.
Could I foresee the tender bloom
Life holds some stern experience,
As most of us discover,
I lost my little lover;
A BALLAD OF THE FLEET, 1591
ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: “I know you are no
So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,
Very carefully and slow,
He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,
Don or Devil yet.”
Sir Richard spoke and he laugh’d, and we roar'd a hurrah, and
The little “Revenge” ran on, sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little "Revenge" ran on, thro' the long sea-lane
Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and
laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delay'd By their mountain-like “San Philip,” that, of fifteen hundred
tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails and we stay’d.