A Brave Deed

A Brave Deed.
201.7

‘Twas a little mountain village
In a valley, rich and green,
And the setting sun shone brightly
O’er the peaceful, happy scene.

Sturdy farmers at their ploughing
Glance up at the setting sun,
Thinking of the happy dreside
They will reach when work is done.

Suddenly a cry is ringing.
Fire! Arel” loud and clear.
And the ploughmen in the meadow,
Hasten home in sudden fear.

“Tis my cottage that is burning!”
Cries a brave, young mountaineer,
“Oh, my wifel May heaven help her!
God protect my children dear!”

Then his wife runs out to meet him;
She is safe from every harm,
And her baby boy is lying
Safe, encircled by her arm.

But their lovely little daughter- Bright-haired, blue-eyed, three-year-old,
She is in the burning cottage.
She is missing from the fold.

With a cry the brave young husband
Springs into the mass of flame. He would give his life for baby’s-
For his darling. Who could blame?

One long mlaute they stand watching;
Then a cheer rings high and higher,
“Bravo! for our fearless comrade.
He has saved her from the fire.”

Hearts are happy in that village:
From amongst them none are gone,
And they all sleep sweet and peaceful
Till the coming of the dawn.
-Eugene