Chapter 10

If sickness should ever o'ertake me, O! just think how cherished I'll be-- What loving cares, gentle caresses, Shall be showered on fortunate me; While you in some lone, gloomy attic, To dull death posting off at quick pace, Will encounter no tokens of pity Save the smirk on some pert waiter's face.

And who, perhaps, twelve hours after, Bringing up your weak tea and dry toast, Will look in, find you "_gone,_" and drawl forth, "Number ten has just given up the ghost." Then, Charley, to good counsel listen, Brave not an old bachelor's fate, But, doing as I've done, go marry A loving and loveable mate.

A MODERN COURTSHIP.

Why turn from me thus with such petulant pride, When I ask thee, sweet Edith, to be my bride; When I offer the gift of heart fond and true, And with loyalty seek thy young love to woo? With patience I've waited from week unto week, And at length I must openly, candidly speak.

But why dost thou watch me in doubting surprise, Why thus dost thou raise thy dark, deep, melting eyes? Can'st thou wonder I love thee, when for the last year We have whispered and flirted--told each hope and fear; When I've lavished on thee presents costly and gay, And kissed thy fair hands at least six times each day?

What! Do I hear right? So those long sunny hours Spent wand'ring in woods or whispering in bowers, Our love-making ardent in prose and in rhyme, Was just only a method of passing the time! A harmless flirtation--the fashion just now, To be closed, by a smile, or a jest, or a bow!

Ah, believe me, fair Edith, with me 'twas not so, And I would I had known this but six months ago; I would not have wasted on false, luring smiles, On graces coquettish and cold, studied wiles, True love that would give thee a life for thy life, And guarded and prized thee, a fond, worshipped wife.

Oh I thou'rt pleased now to whisper my manners are good, And my smiles such as maiden's heart rarely withstood, My age just the thing--nor too young nor too old-- My character faultless, naught lacking but gold, And to-day might I claim e'en thy beauty so rare If good Uncle John would but make me his heir.

Many thanks, my best Edith! I now understand For what thou art willing, to barter thy hand: A palace-like mansion with front of brown stone, In some splendid quarter to fashion well known, _Sèvres_ china, conservatory, furniture rare, Unlimited pin-money, phaeton and pair.

It is well, gentle lady! The price is not high With a figure like thine, such a hand, such an eye, Most brilliant accomplishments, statuesque face, Manners, carriage _distingué_ and queenlike in grace,-- Nothing wanting whatever, save only a heart, But, instead, double portions of cunning and art.

Ah! well for me, lady, I have learned in good time To save myself misery--you, sordid crime. I will garner the love that so lately was thine For one who can give me a love true as mine; But learn ere we part, Edith, peerless and fair, _Uncle John has just died and has left me his heir!_

VOICES OF THE HEARTH.

TO MY HUSBAND ON OUR WEDDING-DAY.

I leave for thee, beloved one, The home and friends of youth, Trusting my hopes, my happiness, Unto thy love and truth; I leave for thee my girlhood's joys, Its sunny, careless mirth, To bear henceforth my share amid The many cares of earth.

And yet, no wild regret I give To all that now I leave, The golden dreams, the flow'ry wreaths That I no more may weave; The future that before me lies A dark and unknown sea-- Whate'er may be its storms or shoals, I brave them all with thee!

I will not tell thee now of love Whose life, ere this, thou'st guessed, And which, like sacred secret, long Was treasured in my breast; Enough that if thy lot be calm, Or storms should o'er it sweep, Thou'lt learn that it is woman's love, Unchanging, pure and deep.

In this life's sunshine gild thy lot, Bestowing wealth and pride, Its light enjoying, I shall stand, Rejoicing, at thy side; But, oh! if thou should'st prove the griefs That blight thy fellow-men, 'Twilt be my highest, dearest right, To be, love, with thee then.

And thou, wilt thou not promise me Thy heart will never change, That tones and looks, so loving now, Will ne'er grow stern and strange? That thou'lt be kind, whatever faults Or failings may be mine, And bear with them in patient love, As I will bear with thine?

TO MY FIRST BORN.

Fair tiny rosebud! what a tide Of hidden joy, o'erpow'ring, deep, Of grateful love, of woman's pride, Thrills through my heart till I must weep With bliss to look on thee, my son, My first born child--my darling one!

What joy for me to sit and gaze Upon thy gentle, baby face, And, dreaming of far distant days, With mother's weakness strive to trace Tokens of future greatness high, On thy smooth brow and lustrous eye.

What do I wish thee, darling, say? Is it that lordly mental power That o'er thy kind will give thee sway, Unchanging, full, a glorious dower For those whose minds may grasp its worth, True rulers and true kings of earth?

Or would I ask for thee that fire Of wond'rous genius, great divine, The spell that charms the poet's lyre, Till like a halo it will shine Around a name praised, honored, sung, In distant climes by many a tongue?

Ah, no! my child, with such vain themes I will not mar thy quiet rest Nor wish ambition's restless dreams Infused into thy tranquil breast; Too soon will manhood's weight of care O'ercloud that waxen brow so fair.

For thee, my Babe, I only pray Thou'lt live to bless thy parents' love, To be their hope, their earthly stay, And gaining grace from heaven above, Tread in the path the good have trod, True to thy country and thy God!

GIVEN AND TAKEN.

The snow-flakes were softly falling Adown on the landscape white, When the violet eyes of my first born Opened unto the light; And I thought as I pressed him to me, With loving, rapturous thrill, He was pure and fair as the snow-flakes That lay on the landscape still.

I smiled when they spoke of the weary Length of the winter's night, Of the days so short and so dreary, Of the sun's cold cheerless light-- I listened, but in their murmurs Nor by word nor thought took part, For the smiles of my gentle darling Brought light to my home and heart.

Oh! quickly the joyous springtime Came back to our ice-bound earth, Filling meadows and woods with sunshine, And hearts with gladsome mirth, But, ah! on earth's dawning beauty There rested a gloomy shade, For our tiny household blossom Began to droop and fade.

And I, shuddering, felt that the frailest Of the flowers in the old woods dim Had a surer hold on existence Than I dared to hope for him. In the flush of the summer's beauty On a sunny, golden day, When flowers gemmed dell and upland, My darling passed away.

Now I chafed at the brilliant sunshine That flooded my lonely room, Now I wearied of bounteous Nature, So full of life and bloom; I regretted the wintry hours With the snow-flakes falling fast, And the little form of my nursling With his arms around me cast.

They laid his tiny garment In an attic chamber high, His coral, his empty cradle, That they might not meet my eye; And his name was never uttered, What e'er each heart might feel, For they wished the wound in my bosom Might have tune to close and heal.

It has done so thanks to that Power That has been my earthly stay, And should you talk of my darling, I could listen now all day, For I know that each passing minute Brings me nearer life's last shore, And nearer that glorious Kingdom Where we both shall meet once more!

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

The world had chafed his spirit proud By its wearing, crushing strife, The censure of the thoughtless crowd Had touched a blameless life; Like the dove of old, from the water's foam, He wearily turned to the ark of home.

Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart, Had toiled for many a day, With body and spirit, and patient art, Like mists had melted away; And o'er day-dreams vanished, o'er fond hopes flown, He sat him down to mourn alone.

No, not alone, for soft fingers rest On his hot and aching brow, Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed While a sweet voice whispers low: "Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true, And shall I not share thy sorrows too?"

Vain task to resist the loving gaze That so fondly meets his own, Revealing a heart that cares for praise From him and him alone; And though censure and grief upon him pall, Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.

What though false friends should turn aside, Or chill with icy look; What though he meet the pitying pride, The proud heart ill can brook; There are depths of love in one gentle heart, Whose faith with death alone will part.

Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom, For a talisman hast thou 'Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom, 'Gainst scornful look or brow-- _Her_ heart is a high and a holy throne Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.

Kindly return her tender gaze, Press closely that little hand, Whisper fond words and soothing praise-- They are ever at thy command; It is all the harvest she asks to reap In return for love as the ocean deep.

A BOY'S HOPES.

Dear mother, dry those flowing tears, They grieve me much to see; And calm, oh! calm thine anxious fears-- What dost thou dread for me? 'Tis true that tempests wild oft ride Above the stormy main, But, then, in Him I will confide Who doth their bounds ordain.

I go to win renown and fame Upon the glorious sea; But still my heart will be the same-- I'll ever turn to thee! See, yonder wait our gallant crew, So, weep not, mother dear; My father was a sailor too-- What hast thou then to fear?

Is it not better I should seek To win the name he bore, Than waste my youth in pastimes weak Upon the tiresome shore? Then, look not thus so sad and wan, For yet your son you'll see Return with wealth and honors won Upon the glorious sea.

TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD ON HER BIRTHDAY, WITH A WREATH OF FLOWERS.

Whilst others give thee wond'rous toys, Or jewels rich and rare, I bring but flowers--more meet are they For one so young and fair.

'Tis not because that snowy brow Might with the lily vie, Or violet match the starry glance Of that dark, lustrous eye;

Nor yet because a brighter blush E'en rose leaf never wore, But 'tis that in their leaves lies hid A rare and mystic lore.

And with its aid I now shall form A wreath of flow'rets wild-- Graceful, and full of meaning sweet, To deck thy brow, fair child!

The primrose, first, the emblem fit Of budding, early youth; The daisy in whose leaves we read Pure innocence and truth.

The rosebud, sign of youthful charms, We well may give to thee, And with it join the sweet frail leaves Of the shrinking sensitive tree.

And, tribute to thy modesty, The violet emblem meet,-- Itself concealing, yet on all Shedding its perfume sweet.

And for thy kind and gentle heart We bring the jessamine, To twine with ivy, ever green-- True friendship's sacred sign.

Thy wreath is formed--of blossoms bright I've twined each link, and, yet, Another flower I still must add, The fragrant mignonnette,

Which says "However great the charms That to thy lot may fall Thy qualities of heart and mind By far surpass them all."

Aye, be it thus, and ever may This lovely wreath, as now-- Emblem of every precious gift-- Be fit to deck thy brow.

But, last and dearest, 'mid the buds Of that bright varied lot Must ever be, my gentle child, The sweet forget-me-not!

MY THOUGHTS TO-NIGHT.

I sit by the fire musing, With sad and downcast eye, And my laden breast gives utt'rance To many a weary sigh; Hushed is each worldly feeling, Dimmed is each day-dream bright-- O heavy heart, can'st tell me Why I'm so sad to-night?

'Tis not that I mourn the freshness Of youth fore'er gone by-- Its life with pulse high springing, Its cloudless, radiant eye-- Finding bliss in every sunbeam, Delight in every part, Well springs of purest pleasure In its high ardent heart.

Nor yet is it for those dear ones Who've passed from earth away That I grieve--in spirit kneeling Above their beds of clay; O, no! while my glance upraising To yon calm shining sky, My pale lips, quivering, murmur, "They are happier than I!"

But, alas! my spirit mourns As, weary, it looks back-- Finding naught of good or holy On life's past barren track-- I mourn for the countless errors That on mem'ry's page crowd on, And sorrow for lost chances Of good I might have done.

But, courage! I must arouse me, The day is not yet o'er, And I still may make atonement Ere leaving life's last shore: One act of meek oblation, A tear of penance bright, Will be counted as rare treasures In heaven's loving sight.

THE BOY'S APPEAL.

O say, dear sister, are you coming Forth to the fields with me? The very air is gaily ringing With hum of bird and bee, And crowds of swallows now are chirping Up in our ancient thorn, And earth and air are both rejoicing, On this gay summer morn.

Shall we hie unto the streamlet's side To seek our little boat, And, plying our oars with right good will, Over its bright waves float? Or shall we loll on the grassy bank For hours dreamy, still, To draw from its depths some silv'ry prize, Reward of angler's skill?

I do not talk of the tempting game The forest covers hide, So dear to the sportsman--plovers shy, Pheasants with eye of pride, For I know your timid nature shrinks From flash of fire-arm bright, And the birds themselves hear not the din With more intense affright.

But we may tread the cool wood's paths, And wander there for hours, Discovering hidden fairy dells, Be-gemmed with lovely flowers; And while you weave them in varied wreaths; In oaks of giant size I'll seek for nests of cunning shape-- I, too, must win some prize.

Then, sister, listen! squander not These hours of precious time With stupid book or useless work-- It is indeed a crime; But haste with me to the wood-lands green, Where forest warblers sing And bees are humming--like them, too, We must be on the wing.

THE CHILD'S DREAM.

Buried in childhood's cloudless dreams, a fair-haired nursling lay, A soft smile hovered round the lips as if still oped to pray; And then a vision came to him, of beauty, strange and mild, Such as may only fill the dreams of a pure sinless child.

Stood by his couch an angel fair, with radiant, glitt'ring wings Of hues as bright as the living gems the fount to Heaven flings; With loving smile he bent above the fair child cradled there, While sounds of sweet seraphic power stole o'er the fragrant air.

"Child, list to me," he softly said, "on mission high I'm here: Sent by that Glorious One to whom Heav'n bows in loving fear; I seek thee now, whilst thou art still on the threshold of earth's strife, To speak of what thou knowest not yet, this new and wond'rous life.

"Dost cling to it? dost find this earth a fair and lovely one? Dost love its bright-dyed birds and flowers, its radiant golden sun? I come to bid thee leave it all--to turn from its bright bloom, And, having closed thine eyes in death, descend into the tomb.

"Thou shudderest, child! with restless gaze from me thou turn'st away; 'Mid summer flowers and singing birds wouldst thou remain to play; Thou still wouldst bask in the dear light of thy fond father's smile, And on thy mother's doating heart would linger yet awhile.

"'Tis well, sweet child, I blame thee not, but in spheres far away Are blossoms lovelier far than those which tempt thee here to stay; And if the love of parents fond with joy thy heart doth fill, In those bright distant realms is One who loves thee better still!

"That One for thee in suffering lived--for thy sake, too, he died; Oh! like the ocean is His love, as deep, my child, as wide. Leave, then, this earth ere hideous sin thy spotless brow shall dim-- One struggling breath, one parting pang, and then thou'lt be with Him!"

A smile lit up the sleeper's face, but soon it softly fled, The rose leaf cheeks and lips grew wan--could it be the child was dead? Yes, dead--and spared the ills of life, and in bright bliss above The pure soul nestles in the light of God's unbounded Love.

A GIRL'S DAY DREAM AND ITS FULFILMENT.

"Child of my love, why wearest thou That pensive look and thoughtful brow? Can'st gaze abroad on this world so fair And yet thy glance be fraught with care? Roses still bloom in glowing dyes, Sunshine still fills our summer skies, Earth is still lovely, nature glad-- Why dost thou look so lone and sad?"

"Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child To cherish a bird or flow'ret wild; To see the moonbeams the waters kiss, Was enough to fill her heart with bliss; Or o'er the bright woodland stream to bow, But these things may not suffice her now."

"Perhaps 'tis music thou seekest, child? Then list the notes of the song birds wild, The gentle voice of the mountain breeze, Whispering among the dark pine trees, The surge sublime of the sounding main, Or thy own loved lute's soft silvery strain."

"Mother, there's music sweeter I know Than bird's soft note or than ocean's flow, Vague to me yet as sounds of a dream, Yet dearer, brighter than sunshine's gleam; Such is the music I fain would hear, All other sounds but tire mine ear!"

"Ah! thou seekest then a loving heart, That in all thy griefs will bear a part, That shelter will give in doubt and fear, Come to me, loved one, thou'lt find it here!"

"Sweet mother, I almost fear to speak, And remorseful blushes dye my cheek, For though thou'st watched me from childhood's hour, As thou would'st have done a precious flower, Though I love thee still as I did of yore, Yet this weak heart seeketh something more:

A bliss as yet to my life unknown, A heart whose throbs will be all mine own, The tender tones of a cherished voice, Of him who shall be my heart's first choice; And who at my feet alone shall bow, This, this is the dream that haunts me now."

"Alas, poor child, has it come to this? Then bid farewell to thy childhood's bliss, To thy girlhood's bright unfettered hours, Thy sunny revels 'mid birds and flowers; Of the golden zone yield up each strand To cling to a hope, unstable as sand, And forget the joys thy youth hath wove In the stormy doubts of human love, The feverish hopes and wearing pain That form the links of Love's bright chain!" Alas! the mother spoke in vain!

The girl's dream was soon fulfilled, Her hopes by no dark cloud were chilled; A lover ardent, noble too, With flashing eyes of jetty hue, With voice like music, sweet and soft, Such as her dreams had pictured oft, Now at her feet, a suppliant bowed, And love eternal, changeless vowed.

Listening, then, with glowing cheek, And rapture which no words might speak, She thought, with bright and joyous smile, They erred who thus could love revile, Or say it had many a dark alloy,-- Had it not proved a dream of joy?

But, alas for her! she learned too soon That love is fleeting as rose of June, That her eyes might shine with olden light, And yet be found no longer bright; That she might devoted, faithful prove, Yet her lover grow weary of her love. Many an hour of silent tears, Of heart-sick doubts, of humbling fears, Of angry regrets, were hers, before Her heart would say, "He loves no more."

Weary of life and its thorny ways, She sought the friend of her early days: "Mother, I bring thee a breaking heart, In sorrows deep it hath borne a part; Speak to me tenderly as of yore, Let thy kiss rest on my brow once more; To the joys of my girlhood back I flee, To live alone for them and for thee!"

TO A YOUNG MOTHER ON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST-BORN CHILD.

Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it rejoice, Well may'st thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy voice: A gift hath been bestowed on thee, a gift of priceless worth, Far dearer to thy woman's heart than all the wealth of earth.

What store of deep and holy joy is opened to thy thought-- Glad, sunny dreams of future days, with bliss and rapture fraught; Of hopes as varied, yet as bright, as beams of April sun, And plans and wishes centred all within thy darling one!

While others seek in changing scenes earth's happiness to gain, In fashion's halls to win a joy as dazzling as 'tis vain-- A bliss more holy far is thine, far sweeter and more deep, To watch beside thine infant's couch and bend above his sleep.

What joy for thee to ling'ring gaze within those cloudless eyes, Turning upon thee with a glance of such sweet, strange surprise, Or press a mother's loving kiss upon that fair, white brow, Of all earth's weight of sin and care and pain unconscious now.

Then, as thy loved one's sleeping breath so softly fans thy cheek, And gazing on that tiny form, so lovely, yet so weak, A dream comes o'er thee of the time when nobly at thy side Thy cherished son shall proudly stand, in manhood's lofty pride.

Yet a sad change steals slowly o'er thy tender, loving eye, Thou twin'st him closer to thy heart, with fond and anxious sigh, Feeling, however bright his course he too must suff'ring know, Like all earth's children taste alike life's cup of care and woe.

But, oh! it lies within thy power to give to him a spell To guard him in the darkest hour from sorrow safe and well; Thou'lt find it in the narrow path the great and good have trod-- And thou thyself wilt teach it him--the knowledge of his God!

A CHILD'S TREASURES.

Thou art home at last, my darling one, Flushed and tired with thy play, From morning dawn until setting sun Hast thou been at sport away; And thy steps are weary--hot thy brow, Yet thine eyes with joy are bright,-- Ah! I read the riddle, show me now The treasures thou graspest tight.

A pretty pebble, a tiny shell, A feather by wild bird cast, Gay flowers gathered in forest dell, Already withering fast, Four speckled eggs in a soft brown nest, Thy last and thy greatest prize, Such the things that fill with joy thy breast, With laughing light thine eyes.

Ah! my child, what right have I to smile And whisper, too dearly bought, By wand'ring many a weary mile-- Dust, heat, and toilsome thought? For we, the children of riper years, Task aching heart and brain, Waste yearning hopes and anxious fears On baubles just as vain.

For empty title, ribbon or star, For worshipped and much-sought gold, How men will struggle at home--afar-- And suffer toils untold; Plodding their narrow and earth-bound way Amid restless care and strife, Wasting not merely a fleeting day, But the precious years of life.