SHE lived in the hovel alone, the beautiful child. Alas, that it should have been so! But her father died of the drink, and the sons were wild, And where was the girl to go? Her brothers left her alone in the lonely hut. Ah, it was dreary at night When the wind whistled right thro' the door that never would shut, And sent her sobbing with fright. She never had slept alone; when the stifling room Held her, brothers, father -- all. Ah, better their violence, better their threats, than the gloom That now hung close as a pall! When the hard day's washing was done, it was sweeter to stand Hearkening praises and vows, To feel her cold fingers kept warm in a sheltering hand, Than crouch in the desolate house. Ah, me! she was only a child; and yet so aware Of the shame which follows on sin. A poor, lost, terrified child! she stept in the snare, Knowing the toils she was in. Yet, now, when I watch her pass with a heavy reel, Shouting her villainous song, It is only pity or shame, do you think, that I feel For the infinite sorrow and wrong? With a sick, strange wonder I ask, Who shall answer the sin, Thou, lover, brothers of thine? Or he who left standing thy hovel to perish in? Or I, who gave no sign? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 5. WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH GOOD FRYDAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: A PSALM OF CONFESSION by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE CITY OF LAISH by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON F.B.C.; CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY 3, 1863 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER FROM A CAR WINDOW by JOSIE FRAZEE CAPPLEMAN THE MANCIPLE'S TALE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |