| |
| HE went into the bush, and passed | |
| Out of the sight of living men, | |
| None knows the nook that held him last, | |
| None ever saw his face again. | |
| |
| It may be, in the wildering wood | 5 |
| He wandered, weary, spent of breath, | |
| Till the all-mastering solitude | |
| Sank to the deeper hush of death. | |
| |
| Perchance he crawled where the low bush, | |
| More verdant, whispered streams were nigh, | 10 |
| Hopeful, but desperate, made a rush, | |
| And found, O God! the bed was dry! | |
| |
| He was a waif, and friends had none; | |
| Who knows but in some distant land | |
| A mother mourns her errant son, | 15 |
| A sister longs to clasp his hand? | |
| |
| He was a waif, but with him died | |
| A world of yearnings deep within— | |
| Yearning to loftiest things allied, | |
| But wrecked by cruel fate, or sin. | 20 |
| |
| None heard the lone one’s dying prayer | |
| Save Infinite Pity bending o’er, | |
| Who, haply, bore him quietly where | |
| They hunger and they thirst no more. | |
| |
| O ye vast woods! what fond life-dreams | 25 |
| Ye close! what broken lives ye hide! | |
| Darkly absorbed, like hopeful streams, | |
| That in dry desert lands subside. | |
| |
| Stranger the tales ye could unfold | |
| Than wild romancer ever penned, | 30 |
| Remaining buried in the mould | |
| Till time shall cease, and mystery end! | |
| |
