"You ought to've kept the animals in view,
And drove 'em in; you'd nothing else to do.
The heft of all our life on me must fall;
You just lie round, and let me do it all."
it hadn't been gone a half a minute
Before I saw the cold black poison in it;
And I'd have given all I had, and more,
To've only safely got it back in-door.
I'm now what most folks "well-to-do" would call :
I feel to-day as if I'd give it all,
Provided I through fifty years might reach
And kill and bury that half-minute speech.
She handed back no words, as I could hear;
She didn't frown; she didn't shed a tear;
Half proud, half crush'd, she stood and look'd me o’er,
Like some one she had never seen before!
But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise
I never view'd before in human eyes.
(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream;
It sometimes wakes me like a midnight scream.)
Next morning, when, stone-faced but heavy-hearted. With dinner-pail and sharpen'd axe I started Away for my day's work, she watch'd the door, And follow'd me half way to it or more; And I was just a-turning round at this, And asking for my usual good-by kiss ; But on her lip I saw a proudish curve, And in her eye a shadow of reserve; And she had shown- perhaps half unawares Some little independent breakfast airs; And so the usual parting didn't occur, Although her eyes invited me to her; Or rather half invited me, for she Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free:
You always had - that is, I had
Full market price, and go more'n half the way.
So, with a short "Good-bye," I shut the door,
And left her as I never had before.
But, when at noon my lunch I came to eat,
Put up by her so delicately neat,
Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been,
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in,-
"Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew they meant,-
It seem'd as if her kiss with me she'd sent;
Then I became once more her humble lover,
And said, "To-night I'll ask forgiveness of her."
I went home over-early on that eve,
Having contrived to make myself believe,
By various signs I kind o' knew and guess'd,
A thunder-storm was coming from the west.
('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the heart,
How many honest ones will take its part:
A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right
That I should strike home early on that night.)
Half out of breath, the cabin door I swung,
With tender heart-words trembling on my tongue;
But all within look'd desolate and bare :
My house had lost its soul, - she was not there!
A pencil'd note was on the table spread,
And these are something like the words it said:
"The cows have stray'd away again, I fear;
I watch'd them pretty close; don't scold me, dear.
And where they are I think I nearly know ;
I heard the bell not very long ago.
I've hunted for them all the afternoon;
I'll try once more, I think I'll find them soon.
Dear, if a burden I have been to you,
And haven't help'd you as I ought to do,
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead ;
I've tried to do my best,
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack,
And have kind words for me when I get back."
Scarce did I give this letter sight and tongue,
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung,
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded :
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed.
I rush'd out-door. The air was stain'd with black:
Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back :
And every thing kept dimming to the sight,
Save when the clouds threw their electric light;
When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view,
I'd think I saw her, — knowing 'twas not true.
Through my small clearing dash'd wide sheets of spray,
As if the ocean waves had lost their way;
Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made,
In the bold clamour of its cannonade.
And she, while I was shelter'd, dry, and warm,
Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm!
She who, when storm-frights found her at her best,
Had always hid her white face on my breast!
My dog, who'd skirmish'd round me all the day,
Now crouch'd and whimpering, in a corner lay ;
I dragg'd him by the collar to the wall,
I press'd his quivering muzzle to a shawl,
“Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he whined,
Match'd eyes with me, as if to read my mind,
Then with a yell went tearing through the wood.
I follow'd him, as faithful as I could.
No pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame;
We raced with death; we hunted noble game.
All night we dragg'd the woods without avail ;
The ground got drench'd, we could not keep the trail
Three times again my cabin home I found,
Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound;
But each time 'twas an unavailing care:
My house had lost its soul; she was not there!
When, climbing the wet trees, next morning-sun
Laugh'd at the ruin that the night had done,
Bleeding and drench'd, by toil and sorrow bent,
Back to what used to be my home I went.
But, as I near'd our little clearing-ground,
Listen! I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound.
The cabin door was just a bit ajar;
It gleam'd upon my glad eyes like a star.
"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile form!
She made them guide her homeward through the storm!' Such pangs of joy I never felt before.
"You've come!" I shouted, and rush'd through the door.
Yes, she had come, - and gone again. She lay
With all her young life crush'd and wrench'd away,
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among,
Not far from where I kill'd her with my tongue.
The rain-drops glitter'd 'mid her hair's long strands,
The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands,
And 'midst the tears-brave tears that one could trace
Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face,
I once again the mournful words could read,
"I've tried to do my best, I have, indeed."
And now I'm mostly done; my story's o'er;
Part of it never breathed the air before.
"Tisn't over-usual, it must be allow'd,
To volunteer heart-story to a crowd,
And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears,
But you'll protect an old man with his years;
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach,
This is the sermon I would have it preach:
Boys flying kites haul in their white-wing'd birds: You can't do that way when you're flying words. "Careful with fire," is good advice we know : "Careful with words," is ten times doubly so.
Thoughts unexpress'd may sometimes fall back dead,
But God himself can't kill them when they're said!
You have my life-grief: do not think a minute
"Twas told to take up time. There's business in it.
It sheds advice: whoe'er will take and live it,
Is welcome to the pain it costs to give it.
AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! Yes, Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old ;
Near the stately Panthéon you'll meet with the same, In the street that from Oxford hath borrow'd its name.
His station is there; and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim,
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss;
The mourner is cheer'd, and the anxious have rest;
And the guilt-burthen'd soul is no longer opprest.
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,
So he, where he stands, is a centre of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-brow'd Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste, -
What matter! he's caught, and his time runs to waste;
The Newsman is stopp'd, though he stops on the fret;
And the half-breathless Lamplighter, he's in the net!
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;
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