Mothers soothe their crying infants With the teething toy, While they, too, to catch the reading All their ears employ. Seated in the chimney corner Now for many years, With bent head the grandsire gazes, Though he nothing hears. Is the maiden clever, that they Thus to her give heed? Nay! but simply in that household She alone could read: And her lot it was to read out, To the peasants old, The glad news of longed-for freedom, Which the paper told. The full meaning of the message Knew not she nor they; But all, darkly, felt the dawning Of a better day. Brothers! see, the day-dawn flushes! Darkness yields its place, Sons of yours, ere long, will look on Daylight face to face. More and more let darkness lighten! Day arise in might! Even now, in vision, see I Rays of rising light. They are shining on the forehead, Gleaming in the look, Of that thoughtful little maiden With her little book. Freedom, Brothers! This is only First step on the way To the kingdom, where, in knowledge, Shines eternal day! _THE ALPINE GLACIER._ Dank the darkness on the cliff-side; Faintly outlined from below, In their modest maiden gladness, Glaciers in the dawn’s blush glow. What new life upon me blowing, Breathes from yonder snowy height, From that depth of limpid turquoise Flashing in the morning light? There, I know, dread Terror dwelleth, Track of man there is not there; Yet my heart in answer swelleth To the challenge, “Come thou here!” _THE MOTHER._ Little sufferer--all on fire! All’s to him so trying! On my shoulder lean thy head, On my bosom lying! I will walk about with thee, Sleep, my own sweet dearie. Shall I tell a little tale? “_Once there lived a fairy_”-- No? Thee likes not silly tales? P’r’aps a song will take thee! “_Pine-wood rustling dark and dank, Big fox, wee fox, wakes he. In the dark pine-wood will I_----” Is my own pet sleeping? “_Gather blackberries for thee Brimful baskets heaping. In the dark pine-wood will I_----” Hush! he fast is sleeping. Open wide his feverish lips, Like a wee bird, keeping. “_In the dark pine-wood will I_,” Walks the mother, singing-- Till the long dark night declines, Back the day-dawn bringing. Singing--while her weary arms With dull pain are tingling-- Walks the mother; with her sighs Frequent tears are mingling; And scarce stirs the restless child, Tossing in its fever, Ere again that song resounds, Soft and low as ever.