"There's one bright star looks straight down here:
  I wonder if it sees
Me, shivering, hungry, weary, lost,
   Amongst the great tall trees.

"God seeth all things, mother says,
  And listeneth when we pray:
Kind God, O guide my father here,
  Where my heavy head I'll lay!
He is so tall and strong, he soon
   Would carry me away,

"And lay me in my mother's lap,
  Where she would let me sleep:
Dear, loving mother! if she knew
   How tired I am, she'd weep.

"So tired and sleepy. Hark! I hear
  Opossums in the tree:
Their little ones lie warm and soft,—
  Not lost and cold, like me!

"O, is not that the tiger's howl?
  'Tis coming very near!
I see it moving, and its eyes
   Look at me sharp and clear!"

??.

MORNING! And anxious greetings pass
Between rough men, who cry, "Alas!"
  And brush quick tears away.
Some have gone forth with gun in hand,
And some consulting, gravely stand,
While careful schemes proposed and plann'd—
  Then part, without delay.

Anon, a torn and weary wight,
Who hath not sat nor slept all night,
  Is met, with eager word.
You need not question. Had he found
The missing one, the joyful sound
  The very clouds had stirr'd.

"No!" was as plain upon his face
As on a felon's brow "Disgrace!"
  Needed few words to tell
That hill and forest, crag and moor,
And swamp and marsh, they'd searchèd o'er,
  But not found little Bell.

He said her father would not turn
From the pursuit; but, with a stern
  Unflinching purpose set,
Had pass'd beyond them all, and gone,
With keen observant eye, far on:
  Trusting to find her yet.

Three tokens of their child he sent
To calm the mother's wild lament,
And prove that, by no erring scent,
   His onward quest was led.

One was the favorite parrot's cup,
With fair, bright water brimming up:
  This had they view'd with dread:
And traced the river banks along,
Lest in the current fast and strong,
  The loved and lost lay, dead.

One youth, more hopeful than the rest,
Across the mossy bridge had press'd,
   Beyond the river-bowers,
And found—now dim and withering,
Tied safely in the ribbon string,
   Poor Bell's last bunch of flowers!

Then hope new-strung each eager heart:
Forward again they swiftly start,
  Searching each bush and tree.
In loud and simultaneous cry
They shout her name, and wait reply,
  Then scream the shrill "Coo-ee!"

Peals, ringing far o'er vale and hill.
Listen! No. All is silent still:
  No little voice replies.
"These flowers are faded: dropp'd last night!
She may have wander'd far since light,"
  The wretched father cries.
"And here, in this moist sand and peat,
Are two—three prints of little feet!"

Then onward: through the swamp, the marsh,
And scrubby moorland rough and harsh,
  With shout and loud halloo.
Listening, they pause between each cry
"What's that, beside yon rock doth lie?"
  A little, stringless shoe.

"'Tis damp all o'er with dews of night,
I feel (I cannot trust my sight:
  'Tis, o' the sudden, dim).
This, many hours since has been left
My child! and are we quite bereft?
  Art thou, too, gone to Him?"

Then, with a struggle crushing down
The choking grief, he hurried on,
  Hope striving with despair.
And the sad relics must be given
To her—the mother. Anguish-riven
  And lone, she waiteth there,

???.

IN her still, desolated home,
Gazing and listening. "Do they come?"
  Then, midst her utter woe,
Busied in laying forth with care
The simple cottage breakfast-fare
  While aye she sobbeth low;

Adding, amending something still,
She strives against the weight of ill,
  With fond and faithful love.
And now she goes within, to spread
And smooth once more the little bed;
  Nest of her late-flown dove.

Then looks out garments neat and small;
And, with caressing hand, hangs all
  The glowing hearth before.
"And is there nothing else?" she asks:
"Nothing but these few loving tasks?"
   Yes: Prayer, and tears,—no more.

A footstep! Ah, it cometh slow:
Good tidings do not loiter so:
  A rough, but kindly friend,
With sympathising sorrow, lays
The relics down; and simple phrase
  Tells how their hopes now tend.

With wordless lips, compressed and pale,
And tear-glazed eyes, she hears the tale.
   Her hands, with lingering touch,