Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an Emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ‘wildered and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn –
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:

O, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.

Pitying, I drop’d a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, what wailing wight
Calls the Watchman of the night?

I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round.
Follow now the beetle’s hum,
Little Wanderer, hi thee home!

In every cry, of every Man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear
In every voice, In every ban
The mind-forg’d Manacles I hear…

Oh my children do they cry …. for the Little Wanderer

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