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قراءة كتاب Stories in Verse
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 3
makes me dumb.
A thousand things that I would say,
And ponder when she is away,
Desert me when she's near—
When she is near—twice we have met!
Though but a month has passed as yet,
It seems almost a year.
And ponder when she is away,
Desert me when she's near—
When she is near—twice we have met!
Though but a month has passed as yet,
It seems almost a year.
O, now she comes, and here she stands,
And gives me hers in both my hands,
And blushes to her brow.
She eyes askance her simple gown,
And folds a Judas tatter down
She has not seen till now.
And gives me hers in both my hands,
And blushes to her brow.
She eyes askance her simple gown,
And folds a Judas tatter down
She has not seen till now.
I said, "My love you made me wait,
I grew almost disconsolate
Thinking you would not come.
Ah, tell me what you have to do,
That makes your duty, sweet, for you
My rival in your home."
I grew almost disconsolate
Thinking you would not come.
Ah, tell me what you have to do,
That makes your duty, sweet, for you
My rival in your home."
"My home!" she answered, "I have none.
For me, 'tis years since there was one,
And that was scarcely mine.
Father and mother both are dead;
I sell sweet flowers to earn my bread—
Their fragrance is my wine.
For me, 'tis years since there was one,
And that was scarcely mine.
Father and mother both are dead;
I sell sweet flowers to earn my bread—
Their fragrance is my wine.
"Sometimes the house upon the farm,
Sometimes the city's friendly arm,
Shields me from rain and dew.
I did not know that it was late;
The minutes you have had to wait,
Are truly but a few."
Sometimes the city's friendly arm,
Shields me from rain and dew.
I did not know that it was late;
The minutes you have had to wait,
Are truly but a few."
A smile shone through her large dark eyes,
As sometimes, in the stormy skies,
The light puts through an arm,
Which, spreading glory far and wide,
Draws the broad curtain cloud aside,
Making the whole earth warm.
As sometimes, in the stormy skies,
The light puts through an arm,
Which, spreading glory far and wide,
Draws the broad curtain cloud aside,
Making the whole earth warm.
She took my arm; we walked away;
We saw, in parks, the fountains play;
My heart was all elate.
I scarcely noticed when I stood,
With my dear waif of womanhood,
Beside our lowly gate.
We saw, in parks, the fountains play;
My heart was all elate.
I scarcely noticed when I stood,
With my dear waif of womanhood,
Beside our lowly gate.
"You have no home," I gently said,
"But, till the day that we are wed,
And after if you will,
This home, my love, is mine and thine."
My aunt came out and bade us dine—
I see her smiling still.
"But, till the day that we are wed,
And after if you will,
This home, my love, is mine and thine."
My aunt came out and bade us dine—
I see her smiling still.
My Blanche, reluctant, gave consent;
Then 'neath the humble roof we went,
And sat about the board.
I saw how sweet the whole surprise;
I saw her fond uplifted eyes,
Give thanks unto the Lord.
Then 'neath the humble roof we went,
And sat about the board.
I saw how sweet the whole surprise;
I saw her fond uplifted eyes,
Give thanks unto the Lord.
VII.
THE PROPHECY.
There is a prophecy of our line,
Told by some great grand-dame of mine
I once attempted to divine.
Told by some great grand-dame of mine
I once attempted to divine.
'Tis that two children, then unborn,
Would know a wealthy wedding morn,
Or die in poverty forlorn.
Would know a wealthy wedding morn,
Or die in poverty forlorn.
These children would be of her name.
If to the bridal bans they came,
The house would gather strength and fame.
If to the bridal bans they came,
The house would gather strength and fame.
But if they came not, woe is me,
The line would ever cease to be,
The wealth would take its wings and flee.
The line would ever cease to be,
The wealth would take its wings and flee.
If all the signs are coming true,
I am the child she pictured, who
The name should keep or hide from view.
I am the child she pictured, who
The name should keep or hide from view.
In our domain of liberty,
Our heed is light of pedigree,
I care not for the prophecy.
Our heed is light of pedigree,
I care not for the prophecy.
For what to me our wealth or line?
I only wish to make her mine—
The maid my aunt asked in to dine.
I only wish to make her mine—
The maid my aunt asked in to dine.
VIII.
HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.
All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,
I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.
I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.
When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,
And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,
And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.
And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,
And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.
For it seems my hated uncle, once had given him a daughter,
Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,
And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,
But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.
Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,
And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,
But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.
Blanche was she, my uncle's daughter; no unwelcome truth was plainer;
For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.
Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?
Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?
For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.
Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?
Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?
All that night my heart was bitter with unutterable anguish,
And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
"How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,
While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"
And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
"How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,
While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"
IX.
THE MISER.
'Tis said, that when he saw his child,
And saw the proof that she was his,
The first in many a year he smiled,
And pressed upon her brow a kiss.
And saw the proof that she was his,
The first in many a year he smiled,
And pressed upon her brow a kiss.
In both his hands her hand he bound,
And led her gayly through his place.
He said the dead years circled round,
Hers was so like her mother's face.
And led her gayly through his place.
He said the dead years circled round,
Hers was so like her mother's face.