Little Hero.
By James McIntyre
'Mong silver hills of Nevada
There is many a wild bravado,
Who oft indulge in lawless vice,
And there are pearls of great price.
Rough hearts, but true at the core,
There is the genuine silver ore,
But it needs skill of the refiner
To find pure gems in the miner.
Far from their home two children stray,
Among the mountains far away,
The eldest of these travellers bold,
Jack Smith he was but six years old.
So far poor children went abroad,
That both at last they lost their road,
But their good dog the trusty Rover,
By scent and search doth them discover.
Their friends they search for them in vain,
Dark night comes on and heavy rain;
And savage wolves around them howl,
But they fear Rover's bark and growl.
On the third day the searchers hark
For sounds and they hear Rover's bark,
Joyous that boys were alive,
And that though feeble they survive.
Miners they left their silver ore,
And for more precious pearls explore,
And when the children they discover,
'Tis unbounded then their pleasure.
The eldest little hero bold
Had stripped his coat to keep the cold
From little brother three years old,
A worthy deed should be extolled.
From home they were many a league,
And weak with hunger and fatigue,
Each clung upon a miner's back,
On their way home down mountain track.