Hemmed in by a passing cart,
Stood the baby boy--the pride and joy
Of the man who had broken her heart.
Past swooning women and shouting men
She fled like a flash of light;
With her slender arm she gathered from harm
The form of the laughing sprite.

The death-shod feet of the mad horse beat
Her down on the pavings grey;
But the baby laughed out with a merry shout,
And thought it splendid play.
He pulled her gown and called to her: "Say,
Dit up and do dat some more,
Das jus' ze way my papa play
Wiz me on ze nursery floor."

When the frightened father reached the scene,
His boy looked up and smiled
From the stiffening fold of the arm, death-cold,
Of Meg, who had died for his child.
Oh! idle words are a woman's curse
Who loves as woman can;
For put to the test, she will bare her breast
And die for the sake of the man.



SOLITUDE