Poems (Charlotte Allen)/The Benighted Wanderers

by Charlotte Allen

THE BENIGHTED WANDERERS.

Loud moaned the wind, 't was a stormy night,
 And cold as heart could desire,
As I hastily closed the blinds so tight,
To shut from my view the cheerless sight,
 And seated myself at the fire.

There, soberly musing over the past,
 Unmindful of all around,
I listened anon, to the pitiless blast,
That against the panes beat hard and fast,
 With such a wildering sound.

Two hours had sped by the family clock,
 Since the storm continued to beat,
When my ears were assailed with a violent knock,
That threatened to burst the latch and the lock,
 And made me start from my seat.

I ran to the door and opened it wide,
 When a sorry sight met my view,
Of a wretched womau, while close by her side
Stood a little boy, whose rags could not hide,
 His bare skin from peeping through.

Kind friend, said the woman, while trembling with cold,
 Please give us some victuals to eat,
And though I can pay neither silver nor gold,
Yet my heart, and that of the boy whom I hold,
 Will bless you with gratitude sweet.

I bade them come in and freely stay,
 And warm themselves at the grate;
They had come a long and a weary way,
Had not eat a mouthful all the day,
 And the hour was getting late.

They were going, she said, to a distant friend,
 To learn of her husband's fate;
But the storm so raged, were obliged to bend
Their steps to my door, to get me to lend
 Some help to their perishing state.

A welcome I gave her to tarry all night,
 With her poor, little, weary child,
And not venture forth, till the morning's light
Had driven away the gloomy sight
 Of the ravaging storm on the wild.

Poor woman! her eyes were o'erflowing with tears,
 Her heart with sorrow was aching,
She had tasted but few of life's short years,
Which were deeply marked with hopes and fears,
 And the ties of the world seemed breaking.

Her blessing she gave me in saying "good night,"
 With her little boy, knelt on the floor,
And with their hands clasped, ('t was a lovely sight,)
They poured forth a prayer, that poverty's blight
 Might never darken my door.

The morning came in its joyous birth,
 The storm had quite passed away,
All nature smiled in its silent mirth,
A cloudless sky encircled the earth,
 To welcome the god of day.

The mother and child, recruited with rest,
 Prepared thenr walk to pursue;
Then, with a "farewell," their hands I pressed,
And prayed that the blessing of heaven might rest
 On the grateful hearts of the two.