Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A THIEF, by LOUIS FRECHETTE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A THIEF, by                    
First Line: Twas a bleak winter -- numbers of the poor
Last Line: To punish deeds their hearts reject as crimes.
Subject(s): Christmas; Crime & Criminals; Poverty; Nativity, The


'Twas a bleak winter—numbers of the poor
Heard the wolf Hunger howling at their door.
The winds blew colder, and there was a dearth
Of Christmas logs on many a cheerless hearth;
And the child Jesus, too, perchance would slight
The small patched shoes laid out for gifts at night.

Christmas!—The lamps illumined every street,
And on the pavements, crusted o'er with sleet,
A busy multitude besieged the doors
Of countless tempting, treasure-laden stores,
Where, by deft hands arranged,—a gorgeous sight—
Wares of all colours shimmered in the light.
Gay laughter floated round: the sparkling rime
Beneath each footfall almost seemed to chime;
And all seemed bathed in opalescent dyes.

There, for a moment, my inquiring eyes
Fell on a pale and feeble-bodied lad,
Who strayed along, and shivered, thinly clad.
His looks devoured the luminous display
Of gilded nothings, which appear so gay
Before our hearts are cold, and hard, and dry.
The frail "street Arab" seemed in ecstasy

I was myself engaged to buy some toys,
Or graceful trifles, that each child enjoys,
And each fond parent gives on such a day,
When, all at once, I heard, with some dismay,
Cries of: "Stop thief! Police! Arrest the child!"
Then the inexorable crowd grew wild,
And seized the culprit. 'Twas the same poor lad
Whom I had seen—now more than doubly sad!—
Grabbed by a "cop," and panting hard for breath—
By the hoarse shouting frightened half to death—
While his numbed hand, unused to stealing, tried
With awkward haste beneath his rags to hide
A small, stiff doll, elaborately drest.
The thief was captured.

By grave thoughts opprest,
I went my way; and when I reached my home
I kissed my children. But my heart would roam
Throughout the evening—why, I scarce can tell—
To the pale boy locked up within a cell.
When midnight came, I left my bed in haste,
And in each shoe my stealthy tribute placed:
But still I saw (his cough was harsh and loud)
A ragged child above a show-case bowed;
I saw him—eagerly, but ill at ease—
Stretch his chilled hand the luring prize to seize;
I saw him ope his tatters, that he might
Conceal his booty, and then take to flight.
Next, the police, the dock, the jail, and last
The shame and sorrow on his parents cast!
An orphan, maybe—'twas his first disgrace?—
I felt keen pity for the poor child's case;
And thus, although not loving the resort,
Next day I entered the Recorder's Court.
Between some tramps and women of the town,
The boy stood there, with tearful eyes cast down.
His story, short and sad. His only friends
Were those the law reluctantly defends—
That disinherited and hopeless class
Who have no bread, and nothing else, alas!
But their brave spirit to support their fate.
Three years before this last misfortune's date,
The orphan's sire, struck headlong by a bale
On board a harboured brig, about to sail,
Had fallen lifeless in the vessel's hold.
Then his poor mother—so the outcast told—
Had toiled incessantly their food to get,
While he himself had tried to pay his debt,
Tending his little sister well, whene'er
Some outside labour claimed his mother's care.
Soon came the sister's illness, and in turn
He struggled hard their livelihood to earn,
Pitying his mother, who, with patience mild,
Watched by the bedside of her dying child.
That fatal evening, having seen her weep
For Christmas gifts that come when children sleep,
He left the house, and begged, alas! in vain,
For some small present to console her pain.
"It was for her, your Honour!—nigh to death—
I stole the doll," he said with faltering breath;
" 'Tis the first time."

The lad of tender years
Then hid his face, and, bursting into tears,
Sank down, too weak his anguish to control.
And I went out, with pity in my soul
For the poor Magistrates condemned at times
To punish deeds their hearts reject as crimes.





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