Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LAMP ON THE PRAIRIE, by PHOEBE CARY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LAMP ON THE PRAIRIE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The grass lies flat beneath the wind
Last Line: Her lamp was burning clear!
Subject(s): Homecoming


THE grass lies flat beneath the wind
That is loosed in its angry might,
Where a man is wandering, faint and blind,
On the prairie, lost at night.

No soft, sweet light of moon or star,
No sound but the tempest's tramp;
When suddenly he sees afar
The flame of a friendly lamp!

And hope revives his failing strength,
He struggles on, succeeds, --
He nears a humble roof at length,
And loud for its shelter pleads.

And a voice replies, "Whoever you be
That knock so loud at my door,
Come in, come in! and bide with me
Till this dreadful storm is o'er.

"And no wilder, fiercer time in March
Have I seen since I was born;
If a wolf for shelter sought my porch
To-night, he might lie till morn."

As he enters, there meets the stranger's gaze
One bowed by many a year, --
A woman, alone by the hearth's bright blaze,
Tending her lamp anear.

"Right glad will I come," he said, "for the sweep
Of the wind is keen and strong;
But tell me, good neighbor, why you keep
Your fire ablaze so long?

"You dwell so far from the beaten way
It might burn for many a night;
And only belated men, astray,
Would ever see the light."

"Aye, aye, 't is true as you have said,
But few this way have crossed;
But why should not fires be lit and fed
For the sake of men who are lost?

"There are women enough to smile when they come,
Enough to watch and pray
For those who never were lost from home,
And never were out of the way.

"And hard it were if there were not some
To love and welcome back
The poor misguided souls who have gone
Aside from the beaten track.

"And if a clear and steady light
In my home had always shone,
My own good boy had sat to-night
By the hearth, where I sit alone.

"But alas! there was no faintest spark
The night when he should have come;
And what had he, when the pane was dark,
To guide his footsteps home?

"But since, each night that comes and goes,
My beacon fires I burn;
For no one knows but he lives, nor knows
The time when he may return!"

"And a lonesome life you must have had,
Good neighbor, but tell me, pray,
How old when he went was your little lad?
And how long has he been away?"

"'T is thirty years, by my reckoning,
Since he sat here last with me;
And he was but twenty in the spring, --
He was only a boy, you see!

"And though never yet has my fire been low,
Nor my lamp in the window dim,
It seems not long to be waiting so,
Nor much to do for him!

"And if mine eyes may see the lad
But in death, 't is enough of joy;
What mother on earth would not be glad
To wait for such a boy!

"You think 't is long to watch at home,
Talking with fear and doubt!
But long is the time that a son may roam
Ere he tire his mother out!

"And if you had seen my good boy go,
As I saw him go from home,
With a promise to come at night, you would know
That, some good night, he would come."

"But suppose he perished where never pass
E'en the feet of the hunter bold,
His bones might bleach in the prairie grass
Unseen till the world is old!"

"Aye, he might have died: you answer well
And truly, friend, he might;
And this good old earth on which we dwell
Might come to an end to-night!

"But I know that here in its place, instead,
It will firm and fast remain;
And I know that my son, alive or dead,
Will return to me again!

"So your idle fancies have no power
To move me or appall;
He is likelier now to come in an hour
Than never to come at all!

"And he shall find me watching yet,
Return whenever he may;
My house has been in order set
For his coming many a day.

"You were rightly shamed if his young feet crossed
That threshold stone to-night,
For your foolish words, that he might be lost,
And his bones be hid from sight!

"And oh, if I heard his light step fall,
If I saw him at night or morn
Far off, I should know my son from all
The sons that ever were born.

"And, hark! there is something strange about,
For my dull old blood is stirred:
That wasn't the feet of the storm without,
Nor the voice of the storm I heard!

"It was but the wind! nay, friend, be still,
Do you think that the night wind's breath
Through my very soul could send a thrill
Like the blast of the angel, Death?

"'T is my boy! he is coming home, he is near
Or I could not hear him pass;
For his step is as light as the step of the deer
On the velvet prairie grass.

"How the tempest roars! how my cabin rocks!
Yet I hear him through the din;
Lo! he stands without the door -- he knocks --
I must rise and let him in!"

She rose, she stood erect, serene;
She swiftly crossed the floor;
And the hand of the wind, or a hand unseen,
Threw open wide the door.

Through the portal rushed the cruel blast,
With a wail on its awful swell;
As she cried, "My boy, you have come at last!"
And prone o'er the threshold fell.

And the stranger heard no other sound,
And saw no form appear;
But whoever came at the midnight found
Her lamp was burning clear!





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