A MEMBER OF NUMBER TWO.
For the National Fireman’s Journal.
’Tis midnight ; the streets of the village are still.
Save the frog’s croak and cricket’s monotonous whirr ; The tired miller sleeps, and he dreams of the mill,
And he hears but its hum and the buzz of the burr.
He forgets Envy’s leer and Adversity’s frown ;
His eyelids cling close, and his pulse flutters soft ; When, sudden, a wild cry of fire goes aloft
And a flame flashes up from the heart of the town !
“Fire! Fire! F-i-r-e! F-i-r-e!” he springs to his feet ;
A moment prepares him to battle with Doom ;
Hf kisses his babes—then he flies to the street Where a home blazes up like a torch in the gloom.
They man Number Two and they fight with thc flame :
Hark ! hear the wild wail from the window above—
A woman : “ Help! help! O, come quick, in God’s name ! Save my babe for the sake of thc babes you love ! ”
A voice answered back, “ I am coming.” ’Tis he !
’Tis thc miller that springs up the ladder to her,
As the flame roared around like a storm on the sea,
And he hears not the drone and the buzz of the burr.
“ Not me ! Find the baby ! ” He hears and speeds on, Only saying “ I’ll bring back your darling or die ! ” Minutes pass, but he comes not. They hear not a moan ; The roof crashes in and the flames mount the sky.
O, horror! the fire ! O, turn hither the stream !
The smoke—how it stifles ! How lurid the view !
The wind fans his cheek. He awakes from his dream. ‘Tinas a dream. But, O, reader! such dreams have come true.