THE INEBRIATE.
He sat by the lonely window;
He heard the pattering rain,
With a low and musical murmur,
Fall on the broken pane;
And his heart went back, in fancy,
To his boyhood hours again
Cottage, garden and meadow,
Forest, flowers, and hill,
Valley, streamlet and dingle,
River turning the mill—
All in a sweet confusion,
His lonely heart did fill.
He heard the pattering rain,
With a low and musical murmur,
Fall on the broken pane;
And his heart went back, in fancy,
To his boyhood hours again
Cottage, garden and meadow,
Forest, flowers, and hill,
Valley, streamlet and dingle,
River turning the mill—
All in a sweet confusion,
His lonely heart did fill.
Alas! the recollection
Of hours too sweet to stay
Fell over his heart as the rumble
Of the heavy, yellow clay
Falls over a loved one's coffin,
Whom death hath borne away.
Of hours too sweet to stay
Fell over his heart as the rumble
Of the heavy, yellow clay
Falls over a loved one's coffin,
Whom death hath borne away.
He hears a sigh beside him,
One of childhood's gentle sighs,
And he sees his youngest daughter,
With loving and tearful eyes:
"Father," she murmurs softly,
And kindly he replies.
One of childhood's gentle sighs,
And he sees his youngest daughter,
With loving and tearful eyes:
"Father," she murmurs softly,
And kindly he replies.
"Father, ah! be not angry,
I've come to plead to-day.
Oh! cast the tempting wine-cup
For evermore away;
'Tis luring you to darkness
For which there is no day."
I've come to plead to-day.
Oh! cast the tempting wine-cup
For evermore away;
'Tis luring you to darkness
For which there is no day."
"My child, so long in darkness,
I've groped my weary way,—
So long I've walked in the shadow,
I've ceased to think of day.
But for your sake, gentle pleader,
I'll try to turn away."
I've groped my weary way,—
So long I've walked in the shadow,
I've ceased to think of day.
But for your sake, gentle pleader,
I'll try to turn away."
But alas! the fiend-like tempter,
Alas! for the vice of wrong;
It led him again in the shadow,
With stern hand, cold and strong—
And again with the crowd he mingled,
With laughter, jest and song.
Alas! for the vice of wrong;
It led him again in the shadow,
With stern hand, cold and strong—
And again with the crowd he mingled,
With laughter, jest and song.
One night, in the gloomy winter,
He turned from the revel wild;
For a voice thrilled through his spirit
A whisper low and mild—
It seemed in its gentle cadence
Like the sweet voice of his child.
He turned from the revel wild;
For a voice thrilled through his spirit
A whisper low and mild—
It seemed in its gentle cadence
Like the sweet voice of his child.
He knew that the hand of sickness
Was on her fevered cheek;
That her head upon the pillow,
Fell heavily and weak,—
That she scarce could lift her thin hands,
That she scarcely now could speak.
Was on her fevered cheek;
That her head upon the pillow,
Fell heavily and weak,—
That she scarce could lift her thin hands,
That she scarcely now could speak.
He returned then stepping softly,
Beside the lonely bed;
He pillowed upon his bosom,
In tenderness her head,—
With a heart too full for utterance,
Not a syllable he said.
Beside the lonely bed;
He pillowed upon his bosom,
In tenderness her head,—
With a heart too full for utterance,
Not a syllable he said.
But his tears fell fast and glittered,
Like dew on her golden hair—
The sweet tears of repentance,
How blest, thrice blest they were;—
For a load was on his spirit,
Love struggling with despair.
Like dew on her golden hair—
The sweet tears of repentance,
How blest, thrice blest they were;—
For a load was on his spirit,
Love struggling with despair.
"Father," she whispered, "father,
I soon must from you go;
Soon will the gray-haired sexton
Shovel the crusted snow
Aside, and my grave be fashioned
In the churchyard damp and low.
I soon must from you go;
Soon will the gray-haired sexton
Shovel the crusted snow
Aside, and my grave be fashioned
In the churchyard damp and low.
"But bright-winged angels hover
Over my head to-day;
They will bear me softly, softly,
Through the clear blue sky away—
I do not fear the churchyard,
The coffin and the clay.
Over my head to-day;
They will bear me softly, softly,
Through the clear blue sky away—
I do not fear the churchyard,
The coffin and the clay.
"Yet let me plead, my father,
Before I pass the door,
Open alone for the angels,
When life on earth is o'er:—
Tarn from the sable shadow,
To the sunlight clear, once more."
Before I pass the door,
Open alone for the angels,
When life on earth is o'er:—
Tarn from the sable shadow,
To the sunlight clear, once more."
Her voice ceased here, but pleading
Still were the beautiful eyes,
And her trembling lips grew paler,
And her breathing changed to sighs,
While her white hands clasped together.
Sought for the sweet replies.
Still were the beautiful eyes,
And her trembling lips grew paler,
And her breathing changed to sighs,
While her white hands clasped together.
Sought for the sweet replies.
They were made—the vow was spoken:
A smile o'er her features stole,
The "silver chord was loosened,"
And "broken the golden bowl"—
From the folds of sin and darkness,
Was lifted another soul.
A smile o'er her features stole,
The "silver chord was loosened,"
And "broken the golden bowl"—
From the folds of sin and darkness,
Was lifted another soul.