Alice In The Rain.
On the flats of Balis Moor,
From his only daughter parted__
In her face he shut the door.
The night was dark and rainy,
Deep the slush and slop without;
The lightning it was chainy,
And the thunders rolled about.
The mild, the angel-faced Alice,
Was driven from her gorgeous home,
Because she had a will, alas,
To choose a lover of her own.
And, now 'tis Alice in the rain,
Passing the last friendly light,
With heart o'erfill'd with pain,
And body startl'd with afright.
As a drown'd ghost she moves along,
Having not any place to go;
Nay, she will not see the dawn,
But sinks 'neath the river's flow.
Ah! monster man without a heart,
Go seek your only daughter now;
From her corpse do not start__
Her's is a white and ghastly brow.
Bury fair Alice with a stone,
Strewing flowers on the mound,
Stifling back each sudden moan,
For the fate you doom'd she found.
__John P. Campell.
Poets and Poetry of Kansas
Edited by Thomas W. Herringshaw
(Chicago: American Publishers' Association. 1894)