386 
Before the Curfew. 
[March, 
BEFORE THE CURFEW. 
1829-1882. 
Not bed-time yet ! The night-winds blow, 
The stars are out, — full well we know 
The nurse is on the stair, / 
With hand of ice and cheek of snow. 
And frozen lips that whisper low, 
“ Come, children, it is time to go 
My peaceful couch to share.” 
No years a wakeful heart can tire; 
Not bed-time yet! Come, stir the fire 
And warm your dear old hands ; 
Kind mother earth we love so well 
Has pleasant stories yet to tell 
Before we hear the curfew bell; 
Still glow the burning brands. 
/ 
Not bed-time yet! We long to know 
What wonders time has yet to show. 
What unborn years shall bring; i 
What ship the Arctic pole shall reach. 
What lessons Science waits to teach. 
What sermons there are left to preach. 
What poems yet to sing. 
What next ? we ask; and is it true 
The sunshine falls on nothing new. 
As Israel’s king declared ? 
Was ocean ploughed with harnessed fire ? 
Were nations coupled with a wire ? 
Did Tarshish telegraph to Tyre ? 
How Hiram would have stared! 
And what if Sheba’s curious queen. 
Who came to see, — and to be seen, — 
Or something new to seek. 
And swooned, as ladies sometimes do. 
At sights that thrilled her through and through, 
Had heard, as she was coming to, 
A locomotive’s shriek. 
And seen a rushing railway train 
As she looked out along the plain 
From David’s lofty tower, — 
A mile of smoke that blots the sky 
