With helmet turn’d, through fire and smoke, The gallant fellow fearless broke; He saved them both, but ah! his life Was lost in the unequal strife. Now in sweet Greenwood’s peaceful shade The noble hero sleeps, And o’er his grave full many a friend, In silent sorrow sweeps. A monument erected there Is pointed to with pride By those with whom he often fought The fire, side by side. Sweet flow’rs exhale their fragrant breath, Where now he, peaceful sleeps in death And trees their spreading branches wave Above his solemn Greenwood grave. The Fireman’s Boy. 33 Mother, look out and see that light-- How red it makes the sky; Oh, ’tis a grand though fearful sight! See how the bright sparks fly! It is a house on fire, my son,-- An agonizing sight; It serves to make more deep the gloom That haunts my soul to-night. Mother, what dreadful noise is that, Which thunders o’er the pave? Who are those men in pretty caps And shirts of red, so brave? ’Tis the heavy engines, son, that make The deafening noise you hear; Those gallant men with pretty hats Are firemen brave, my dear. Oh, were my father but alive, Would you not, mother, try To make him be a fireman too? But, ah! why do you cry? I would not chill the sunny glow That nestles in thy breast, Nor have thy little heart to know The pangs which mine oppress. Nay, mother, pray confide to me The griefs which wring thy heart; I’m sure I do not wish to be More happy than thou art. God bless thee, boy; I can but weep, Yet ’tis with mingled joy, To think how like thy father’s self Thou art, my noble boy! He was a fireman, gallant, brave, As ever grasp’d a robe; A nobler heart ne’er beat to save The sufferer void of hope. One stormy night, the deep-toned bell, The firemen summon’d forth To duty; but, alas! he fell, My dearest hope on earth. He fearless rush’d through smoke and flame To save a hapless child, Whose fearful screams he heard amid The din and storm so wild. 34 His brave companions brought him forth, And many a manly tear Coursed down their blacken’d cheeks, And fell upon a fireman’s bier. ’Mid Greenwood’s consecrated bloom, The drooping willow weeps Its dewy tear, beside the tomb Where thy brave father sleeps.