66
THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE.
THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE.
Loud roar the winds, the cutting ice-bolts fall,
The whirling snow is borne along the air;
The dark pine-trees shriek to the wind's wild call,
And writhe like conquered giants in despair.
The whirling snow is borne along the air;
The dark pine-trees shriek to the wind's wild call,
And writhe like conquered giants in despair.
Cold, by the fireless hearth, a mother kneels,
Clasps to her breast a hunger-dying child!
The life-blood in her veins with cold congeals.—
Starvation glitters in her dark eye wild.
Clasps to her breast a hunger-dying child!
The life-blood in her veins with cold congeals.—
Starvation glitters in her dark eye wild.
"O God!" she cries,—"O God! look on my child!
Sweet Heaven, have pity! My poor darling spare!
To die! to die! those lips that on me smiled!
To wither in the grave-mould this brow fair.
Sweet Heaven, have pity! My poor darling spare!
To die! to die! those lips that on me smiled!
To wither in the grave-mould this brow fair.
"Black gloom and darkness! chillier grows the night!
The midnight bell has tolled! he is not here!
He lingers o'er the wine-cup red and bright,—
Unmindful that the morning draweth near.
The midnight bell has tolled! he is not here!
He lingers o'er the wine-cup red and bright,—
Unmindful that the morning draweth near.
"My babe! how cold! my tears freeze on thy cheek,
So pinched with want, I turn from it away!
Hark! hear the rushing of the north wind bleak!
No food,—no fire,—to cheer the coming day!
So pinched with want, I turn from it away!
Hark! hear the rushing of the north wind bleak!
No food,—no fire,—to cheer the coming day!
