THE MUSIC BOX

At six — long ere the wintry dawn —

There sounded through the silent hall

To where I lay, with blankets drawn

Above my ears, a plaintive call.

The Urchin, in the eagerness

Of three years old, could not refrain;

Awake, he straightway yearned to dress

And frolic with his clockwork train.

I heard him with a sullen shock.

His sister, by her usual plan,

Had piped us aft at 3 o'clock —

I vowed to quench the little man.

I leaned above him, somewhat stern,

And spoke, I fear, with emphasis —

Ah, how much better, parents learn,

To seal one's censure with a kiss!

Again the house was dark and still,

Again I lay in slumber's snare,

When down the hall I heard a trill,

A tiny, tinkling, tuneful air —

His music-box! His best-loved toy,

His crib companion every night;

And now he turned to it for joy

While waiting for the lagging light.

How clear, and how absurdly sad

Those tingling pricks of sound unrolled;

They chirped and quavered, as the lad

His lonely little heart consoled.

Columbia, the Ocean's Gem —

( Its only tune ) shrilled sweet and faint.

He cranked the chimes, admiring them

In vigil gay, without complaint.

The treble music piped and stirred,

The leaping air that was his bliss;

And, as I most contritely heard,

I thanked the all-unconscious Swiss!

The needled jets of melody

Rang slowlier and died away —

The Urchin slept; and it was I

Who lay and waited for the day.