Mammoths father calls “extinct,” Creatures that the cave-men feared, Through that forest walked and blinked, Through that jungle crawled and leered; Beasts no Nimrod ever knew, Woolly bears of black and red; Crocodiles, we wondered who Ever dared to see _them_ fed. Were they lizards? If they were, They could swallow _us_ with ease; But they slumbered quietly there In among the mighty trees; Red and silver, blue and green, Played the moonlight on their scales; Golden eyes they had, and lean Crookéd legs with cruel nails. Yet again, oh, faint and far, Came the shadow of a cry, Like the calling of a star To its brother in the sky; Like an echo in a cave Where young mermen sound their shells, Like the wind across a grave Bright with scent of lily-bells. Like a fairy hunter’s horn Sounding in some purple glen Sweet revelly to the morn And the fairy quest again: Then, all round it surged a song We could never understand Though it lingered with us long, And it seemed so sad and grand. SONG _Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, Summon the day of deliverance in: We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn_ _As we yearn for the home that we never shall win; For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin, And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong! Ah! when shall the song of the ransomed begin? The world is grown weary with waiting so long._ _Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave, There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes; Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave As the skylark sings to those infinite skies! This world is a dream, say the old and the wise, And its rainbows arise o’er the false and the true; But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs,--_ _Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue!_ _Little Boy Blue, if the child-heart knows, Sound but a note as a little one may; And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose, And the Healer shall wipe all tears away; Little Boy Blue, we are all astray, The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn, Ah, set the world right, as a little one may; Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn!_ Yes; and there between the trees Circled with a misty gleam Like the light a mourner sees Round an angel in a dream; Was it he? oh, brave and slim, Straight and clad in æry blue, Lifting to his lips the dim Golden horn? We never knew! Never; for a witch’s hair Flooded all the moonlit sky, And he vanished, then and there, In the twinkling of an eye: Just as either boyish cheek Puffed to set the world aright, Ere the golden horn could speak Round him flowed the purple night.