Poems by Marietta Holley Part 14

There is smiling hope on the pretty face Pressed so close to the pane, And her eyes are like blue violets After a summer rain.

III.

How you tremble, little Sybil, At the cannons' dreadful sound, Did you see far away, the fallen steed, And its rider p.r.o.ne on the ground?

The dark brown locks so low in the dust, The scarf with a crimson stain-- Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil, He will not come back again.

IV.

Right gallantly and well he fought Hand to hand with as brave a foe, Their faces hid by the nodding plumes, And the dense clouds hanging low.

Did they think, these hot-blooded captains, That Death was so close by their side, When Howard has fallen, the bravest-- Rung out on the air far and wide.

"Howard?" His foeman kneels by his side, And raises his head to his knee-- Oh, G.o.d! that brothers should part in youth, And thus should their meeting be.

Unheard is the deafening battle roar, Unseen is that dying look; He hears but the sound of a childish laugh, And the song of a Northern brook.

He sees two white forms kneeling In the twilight sweet and dim, One low couch angel-guarded, By a mother's evening hymn.

V.

The Angel of Death came down with the night, Came down with the gathering gloom; G.o.d pity the little dark-eyed girl, Alone in the lonely room.

But still by his side his brother kneels, Chill horror has frozen his veins; He heeds not the glancing shower of sh.e.l.ls, That with red fire glitters and rains.

And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge, That sweeps like a billow on To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight, That man ever gazed upon!

The last shot! What is one life To the battle's gory gain?

But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid Away on the hills of Maine!

AWEARY.

The clouds that vex the upper deep Stay not the white sail of the moon; And lips may moan, and hearts may weep, The sad old earth goes rolling on.

O'er smiling vale, and sighing lake, One shadow cold is overthrown; And souls may faint, and hearts may break, The sad old earth goes rolling on.

TOO LOW.

"My house is thatched with violet leaves And paved with daisies fine, Scarlet berries droop over its eaves, Tall gra.s.ses round it s.h.i.+ne; With softest down I have lined my nest, Securely now will I sit and rest.

"When their wings break from their silvery sh.e.l.l, Touched by my tender care, Here shall my little ones safely dwell, Little ones soft and fair; Some summer morn they shall try their wings While their father sits by my side and sings."

Hard by, just over the streamlet's edge A great rock towered in might, High up, half hidden in moss and sedge, Were safe little nooks and bright; Ah well for the bird with her tender breast, Had she flown to the rock to build her nest!

Poor bird, she built her nest too low; Alas! for the bird, alas!

That she chose that spot to her woe In the low dewy gra.s.s; For the reaper came with his gleaming blade.

Alas for love in the violet shade!

AT LAST.

What though upon a wintry sea our life bark sails, What though we tremble 'neath its cruel gales, Its icy blast; We see a happy port lie far before, We see its s.h.i.+ning waves, its sunny sh.o.r.e, Where we shall wander, and forget the troubled past, At last.

No storms approach that quiet sh.o.r.e, no night Falls on its silver streams, and valleys bright, And gardens vast; Within that pleasant land of perfect peace Our toil-worn feet shall stay, our wanderings cease; There shall we, resting, all forget the past, At last.

The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness, As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast, Their bright plumes cast; The griefs like mourners in a dark array, That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away, And leave us to forget the sorrowful past, At last.

Voices we loved sound from those far-off lands, And thrill our hearts; life's golden sands Are dropping fast; Soon shall we meet by the river of peace, and say, As the night flees before the eye of day, So faded from our eyes the mournful past, At last.

TWILIGHT.

Draped in shadows stands the mountain Against the eastern sky, Above it the fair summer moon Looks downward tenderly; And Venus in the glowing west, Opens her languid eye.

Now the winds breathe softer music, Half a song, and half a sigh; While twilight wraps her purple veil Around us silently, And our thoughts appear like pictures, Pictures shaded wondrously.

Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely, Silvery sea, and shadowy glade, Forest lakes by man forsaken, Where the white fawn's steps are stayed; And contadinos straying 'Neath the Pantheon's solemn shade.

And we see the wave bridged over By the moonlight's mystic link, Desert wells by tall palms shaded, Where dusky camels drink; While dark-eyed Arab maidens Fill their pitchers at the brink.

And secluded convent chapels, Where veiled nuns kneel to pray, With a dim light streaming o'er them Through arches quaint and gray, While down the long and winding aisles Low music dies away.

There is a starry twilight Of the soul, as sadly fair, When our wild emotions are at rest, Like the pale nuns at prayer; And our griefs are hushed like sleepers, And put off the robes of care.

THE SEWING-GIRL.

I asked to see the dead man's face, As I gave the servant my well-filled basket; And she deigned to lead me, a wondrous grace, Where he lay asleep in his rosewood casket.

I was only the sewing-girl, and he the heir to this princely palace.

Flowers, white flowers, everywhere, In odorous cross, and anchor, and chalice.

The smallest leaf might touch his hair; But I--my G.o.d! I must stand apart, With my hands pressed silently on my heart, I must not touch the least brown curl; For I was only the sewing-girl.

If his stately mother knew what I know, As she weeping stood by his side this morning, Would she clasp me in motherly love and woe-- Or drive me out in the cold with scorning?

If she knew that I loved him better than life, Better than death; since for him I gave My hopes of rest, that I faced life's strife, And renounced the quiet and restful grave, When his strong, true hand drew me back that day, When woe, and want, and the want of pity Drove me down where the cold waves lay Like wolves round the walls of this cruel city.