When, all at once, upon the right, A crackling crash, a blinding flare... A shower of cinders through the air... A grind of blocks of slag aslide... And, far above them, in the night, The looming heap had opened wide About a fiery, gaping pit... And, startled and aghast at it, With clasping hands they stood astare, And gazed upon the awful glare: And, as she felt him clutch her hand, She seemed to know her heart’s desire, For evermore with him to stand In that enkindling blaze of fire... When, suddenly, he left her side; And started scrambling up the heap: And, looking up, with stifled cry, She saw, against the glowing sky, Almost upon the pit’s red brink, A little lad, stock-still with fright Before the blazing pit of dread Agape before him in the night, Where, playing castles on the height Since noon, he’d fallen, spent, asleep And dreaming he was home in bed... With brain afire, too strained to think, She watched her lover climb and leap From jag to jag Of broken slag... And still he only seemed to creep... She felt that he would never reach That little lad, though he should climb Until the very end of time... And, as she looked, the burning breach Gaped suddenly more wide... The slag again began to slide, And crash into the pit, Until the dazed lad’s feet Stood on the edge of it. She saw him reel and fall... And thought him done for ... then Her lover, brave and tall, Against the glare and heat, A very fire-bright god of men! He stooped ... and now she knew the lad Was safe with Robert, after all. And while she watched, a throng of folk Attracted by the crash and flare, Had gathered round, though no one spoke But all stood terror-stricken there, With lifted eyes and indrawn breath, Until the lad was snatched from death Upon the very pit’s edge, when, As Robert picked him up, and turned, A sigh ran through the crowd; and fear Gave place to joy, as cheer on cheer Sang through the kindled air... But still she never uttered word, As though she neither saw nor heard; Till as, at last, her lad drew near, She saw him bend with tender care Over the sobbing child who lay Safe in his arms, and hug him tight Against his breast--his brow alight With eager, loving eyes that burned In his transfigured face aflame... And even when the parents came It almost seemed that he was loth To yield them up their little son; As though the lad were his by right Of rescue, from the pit’s edge won.