Ballads of Bravery 5

Ballads of Bravery 5

And see! far up above the flames’ hot breath,

Something that’s human waits a horrid death:

A little child, with waving golden hair,

Stands like a phantom ’mid the horrid glare,

Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed,

While sobs of terror shake her tender breast.

And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild,

A mother screams, “O God! my child, my child!”

 

Up goes a ladder! Through the startled throng

A hardy fireman swiftly moves along,

Mounts sure and fast along the slender way,

Fearing no danger, dreading but delay.

The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path,

Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath;

But up, still up he goes! The goal is won,

His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone,--

 

Gone to his death. The wily flames surround,

And burn and beat his ladder to the ground;

In flaming columns move with quickened beat,

To rear a massive wall ’gainst his retreat.

Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure,

Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore:

Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live,

Crowned with all honors nobleness can give.

 

[Illustration]

 

Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!

Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,

Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm

Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm.

Up with your ladders! Quick! ’tis but a chance!

Behold how fast the roaring flames advance!

Quick! quick! brave spirits to his rescue fly!

Up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die!

 

Silence! he comes along the burning road,

Bearing with tender care his living load.

Aha! he totters! Heaven in mercy save

The good, true heart that can so nobly brave!

He’s up again, and now he’s coming fast!

One moment, and the fiery ordeal’s past,

And now he’s safe! Bold flames, ye fought in vain!

A happy mother clasps her child again.

 

“O, Heaven bless you!” ’Tis an earnest prayer

Which grateful thousands with that mother share.

Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad field

Stand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!

Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty sea

Fearless uphold the standard of the free!

And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the brave

Who fearless move our lives and homes to save!

 

 

OTHELLO’S STORY OF HIS LIFE.

 

Her father loved me; oft invited me;

Still questioned me the story of my life

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,

That I had past.

I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days,

To the very moment that he bade me tell it.

Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth ’scapes, in the imminent deadly breach,

Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

And with it all my travel’s history.

 

* * * * *

 

All these to hear,

Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence,

Whichever as she could with haste despatch,

She’d come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,

Took once a pliant hour, and found good means

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,

But not distinctly.

 

[Illustration]

 

I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke

That my youth suffered. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

She swore in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;

’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful;

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished

That heaven had made her such a man.

 

She thanked me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;

She loved me for the dangers I had passed;

And I loved her that she did pity them:

This is the only witchcraft which I’ve used.

 

[Illustration]

 

 

THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH.

 

In a little German village,

On the waters of the Rhine,

Gay and joyous in their pastimes,

In the pleasant vintage-time,

Were a group of happy peasants,

For the day released from toil,

Thanking God for all his goodness

In the product of their soil,

 

When a cry rung through the welkin,

And appeared upon the scene

A panting dog, with crest erect,

Foaming mouth, and savage mien.

“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.

In dismay they all fell back,--

_All_ except one towering figure,--

’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.

 

God had given this man his image;

Nature stamped him as complete.

Now it was incumbent on him

To perform a greater feat

Than Horatius at the bridge,

When he stood on Tiber’s bank;

For behind him were his townsfolk,

Who, appalled with terror, shrank

 

[Illustration]

 

From the most appalling danger,--

That which makes the bravest quail,--

While they all were grouped together,

Shaking limbs and visage pale.

For a moment cowered the beast,

Snapping to the left and right,

While the blacksmith stood before him

In the power of his might.

 

“_One_ must die to save the many,

Let it then my duty be:

I’ve the power. Fear not, neighbors!

From this peril you’ll be free.”

As the lightning from the storm-cloud

Leaps to earth with sudden crash,

So upon the rabid monster

Did this man and hero dash.

 

In the death-grip then they struggled,

Man and dog, with scarce a sound,

Till from out the fearful conflict

Rose the man from off the ground,

Gashed and gory from the struggle;

But the beast lay stiff and dead.

There he stood, while people gathered,

And rained blessings on his head.

 

“Friends,” he said, “from one great peril,

With God’s help, I’ve set you free,

But my task is not yet ended,

There is danger now in _me_.

Yet secure from harm you shall be,

None need fear before I die.

That my sufferings may be shortened,

Ask of Him who rules on high.”

 

Then unto his forge he straightway

Walked erect, with rapid step,

While the people followed after,

Some with shouts, while others wept;

And with nerve as steady as when

He had plied his trade for gain,

He selected, without faltering,

From his store, the heaviest chain.

 

To his anvil first he bound it,

Next his limb he shackled fast,

Then he said unto his townsfolk,

“All your danger now is past.

Place within my reach, I pray you,

Food and water for a time,

Until God shall ease my sufferings

By his gracious will divine.”

 

Long he suffered, but at last

Came a summons from on high,

Then his soul, with angel escort,

Sought its home beyond the sky;

And the people of that village,

Those whom he had died to save,

Still with grateful hearts assemble,

And with flowers bedeck his grave.