The Face against the Pane. Mabel, little Mabel, With her face against the pane, She hears the sea bird screech, Till it seems like some old crone Standing out there all alone with her woe, Wringing as she stands Her gaunt and palsied hands; While Mabel, timid Mabel, With her face against the pane, Looks out across the night Set the table, maiden Mabel, Is out there in the storm; And your father, you are weeping, O, Mabel, timid Mabel, Go spread the supper table, And set the tea a steeping; Your lover's heart is brave, The perilous reef, That makes the water white. But Mabel, Mabel darling, With her face against the pane, Looks out across the night At the beacon in the rain. The heavens are veined with fire! And the thunder how it rolls! In the lullings of the storm The solemn church bell tolls But no sexton sounds the knell; God pity wives and sweethearts With her face against the pane! A boom! the light house gun, See, a rocket cleaves the sky Down, down and out of sight? From a shoal of richest rubies In the pleasant autumn air, You'll find a little child With face against the pane, Who looks toward the beach Look beyond the stormy skies, T. B. Aldrich Mother and Poet. DEAD! One of them shot by the sea in the east, Yet I was a poetess only last year, And good at my art, for a woman, men said; But this woman, this, who is agonized here, The east sea, and the west sea rhyme on in her head What's art for a woman? To hold on her knees` Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat And 'broider the long clothes and neat little coat; To teach them. It stings there: I made them, indeed, I prated of liberty, rights, and about The tyrant turned out. And when their eyes flashed. O, my beautiful eyes! But then the surprise then one weeps, then one kneels! - God! how the house feels! At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled Then was triumph at Turin, Ancona was free, I bore it! friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime To be leant on, and walked with, recalling the time And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, Writ now but in one hand. I was not to faint. One loved me for two; would be with me ere long: And "Viva Italia" he died for, our saint, "Who forbids our complaint." My Nanni would add he "was safe, and aware Of a presence that turned off the balls, was imprest On which without pause up the telegraph line Shot. Tell his mother. Ah! ah! "his," "their" mother, not "mine.' You think Guido forgot? What! Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven, O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'st thro' the dark How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, Whose sons not being Christ's, die with eyes turned away, Both boys dead! but that's out of nature. We all Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. "Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall. And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done Ah! ah! ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then?. |