| |
| THE GOOD dame looked from her cottage | |
| At the close of the pleasant day, | |
| And cheerily called to her little son | |
| Outside the door at play: | |
| “Come, Peter, come! I want you to go, | 5 |
| While there is light to see, | |
| To the hut of the blind old man who lives | |
| Across the dike, for me; | |
| And take these cakes I made for him,— | |
| They are hot and smoking yet; | 10 |
| You have time enough to go and come | |
| Before the sun is set.”
* * * * *
| |
| And now, with his face all glowing, | |
| And eyes as bright as the day | |
| With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, | 15 |
| He trudged along the way; | |
| And soon his joyous prattle | |
| Made glad a lonesome place,— | |
| Alas! if only the blind old man | |
| Could have seen that happy face! | 20 |
| Yet he somehow caught the brightness | |
| Which his voice and presence lent; | |
| And he felt the sunshine come and go | |
| As Peter came and went. | |
| |
| And now, as the day was sinking, | 25 |
| And the winds began to rise, | |
| The mother looked from her door again, | |
| Shading her anxious eyes; | |
| And saw the shadows deepen, | |
| And birds to their homes come back, | 30 |
| But never a sign of Peter | |
| Along the level track. | |
| But she said: “He will come at morning, | |
| So I need not fret or grieve,— | |
| Though it is n’t like my boy at all | 35 |
| To stay without my leave.” | |
| But where was the child delaying? | |
| On the homeward way was he, | |
| And across the dike while the sun was up | |
| An hour above the sea. | 40 |
| He was stopping now to gather flowers, | |
| Now listening to the sound, | |
| As the angry waters dashed themselves | |
| Against their narrow bound, | |
| “Ah! well for us,” said Peter, | 45 |
| “That the gates are good and strong, | |
| And my father tends them carefully, | |
| Or they would not hold you long! | |
| “You ’re a wicked sea,” said Peter; | |
| “I know why you fret and chafe; | 50 |
| You would like to spoil our lands and homes; | |
| But our sluices keep you safe!” | |
| |
| But hark! through the noise of waters | |
| Comes a low, clear, trickling sound; | |
| And the child’s face pales with terror, | 55 |
| And his blossoms drop to the ground. | |
| He is up the bank in a moment, | |
| And, stealing through the sand, | |
| He sees a stream not yet so large | |
| As his slender, boyish hand. | 60 |
| ’T is a leak in the dike! He is but a boy, | |
| Unused to fearful scenes; | |
| But, young as he is, he has learned to know | |
| The dreadful thing that means. | |
| A leak in the dike! The stoutest heart | 65 |
| Grows faint that cry to hear, | |
| And the bravest man in all the land | |
| Turns white with mortal fear. | |
| For he knows the smallest leak may grow | |
| To a flood in a single night; | 70 |
| And he knows the strength of the cruel sea | |
| When loosed in its angry might. | |
| And the boy! He has seen the danger, | |
| And, shouting a wild alarm, | |
| He forces back the weight of the sea | 75 |
| With the strength of his single arm! | |
| He listens for the joyful sound | |
| Of a footstep passing nigh: | |
| And lays his ear to the ground, to catch | |
| The answer to his cry. | 80 |
| And he hears the rough winds blowing, | |
| And the waters rise and fall, | |
| But never an answer comes to him, | |
| Save the echo of his call. | |
| He sees no hope, no succor, | 85 |
| His feeble voice is lost; | |
| Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, | |
| Though he perish at his post! | |
| |
| So, faintly calling and crying | |
| Till the sun is under the sea; | 90 |
| Crying and moaning till the stars | |
| Come out for company; | |
| He thinks of his brother and sister, | |
| Asleep in their safe warm bed; | |
| He thinks of his father and mother, | 95 |
| Of himself as dying,—and dead; | |
| And of how, when the night is over, | |
| They must come and find him at last: | |
| But he never thinks he can leave the place | |
| Where Duty holds him fast. | 100 |
| |
| The good dame in the cottage | |
| Is up and astir with the light, | |
| For the thought of her little Peter | |
| Has been with her all night. | |
| And now she watches the pathway, | 105 |
| As yester-eve she had done; | |
| But what does she see so strange and black | |
| Against the rising sun? | |
| Her neighbors are bearing between them | |
| Something straight to her door; | 110 |
| Her child is coming home, but not | |
| As he ever came before! | |
| |
| “He is dead!” she cries; “my darling!” | |
| And the startled father hears, | |
| And comes and looks the way she looks, | 115 |
| And fears the thing she fears: | |
| Till a glad shout from the bearers | |
| Thrills the stricken man and wife,— | |
| “Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, | |
| And God has saved his life!” | 120 |
| So, there in the morning sunshine | |
| They knelt about the boy; | |
| And every head was bared and bent | |
| In tearful, reverent joy. | |
| |
| ’T is many a year since then; but still, | 125 |
| When the sea roars like a flood, | |
| Their boys are taught what a boy can do | |
| Who is brave and true and good. | |
| For every man in that country | |
| Takes his son by the hand, | 130 |
| And tells him of little Peter, | |
| Whose courage saved the land. | |
| They have many a valiant hero, | |
| Remembered through the years; | |
| But never one whose name so oft | 135 |
| Is named with loving tears. | |
| And his deed shall be sung by the cradle, | |
| And told to the child on the knee, | |
| So long as the dikes of Holland | |
| Divide the land from the sea! |
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