!
"Thieving rascal! you've my daughter's 'kerchief bound upon your brow;
Off with it, and cast it down here. Come! be quick about it now."
As the man did not obey him, Flossie's father lashed his cheek
With a riding-whip he carried; struck him hard and cut him deep.
Quick the tramp bore down upon him, felled him, o'er him where he lay
Raised a knife to seek his life-blood. Then there came a thought to stay
All his angry, murderous impulse, caused the knife to shuddering fall:
"He's her father; love your en'mies; 'tis 'our God' reigns over all."
At midnight, lambent, lurid flames light up the sky with fiercest beams,
Wild cries, "Fire! fire!" ring through the air, and red like blood each
flame now seems;
They faster grow, they higher throw weird, direful arms which ever lean
About the gray stone mansion old. Now roars the wind to aid the scene;
The flames yet higher, wilder play. A shudder runs through all around--
Distinctly as in light of day, at topmost window from the ground
Sweet Flossie stands, her golden hair enhaloed now by firelit air.
Loud rang the father's cry: "O God! my child! my child! Will no one dare
For her sweet sake the flaming stair?" Look, one steps forth with muffled
face,
Leaps through the flames with fleetest feet, on trembling ladder runs a
race
With life and death--the window gains. Deep silence falls on all around,
Till bursts aloud a sobbing wail. The ladder falls with crashing sound--
A flaming, treacherous mass. O God! she was so young and he so brave!
Look once again. See! see! on highest roof he stands--the fiery wave
Fierce rolling round--his arms enclasp the child--God help him yet to save!
"For life or for eternal sleep,"
He cries, then makes a vaulting leap,
A tree branch catches, with sure aim,
And by the act proclaims his name;
The air was rent, the cheers rang loud,
A rough voice cried from out the crowd,
"Huzza, my boys, well we know him,
None dares that leap but Flying Jim!"
A jail-bird--outlaw--thief, indeed,
Yet o'er them all takes kingly lead.
"Do now your worst," his gasping cry,
"Do all your worst, I'm doomed to die;
I've breathed the flames, 'twill not be long";
Then hushed all murmurs through the throng.
With reverent hands they bore him where
The summer evening's cooling air
Came softly sighing through the trees;
The child's proud father on his knees
Forgiveness sought of God and Jim,
Which dying lips accorded him.
A mark of whip on white face s