Ballads | Page 3

meet
He should wed with one so
low,
He should wed with one so low,
Then he said, in accents sweet,

"Far be thoughts of rank or pelf;
Dear, I love thee for thyself!"
Happy, happy Barbara!
THE CONFESSION.
I am glad that you have come,
Arthur, from the dusty town;
You
must throw aside your cares,
And relax your legal frown.
Coke and
Littleton, avaunt!
You have ruled him through the day;
In this quiet,
sylvan haunt,
Be content to yield your sway.
It is pleasant, is it not,
Sitting here beneath the trees,
While the
restless wind above
Ripples over leafy seas?
Often, when the twilight falls,
In the shadow, quite alone,
I have sat
till starlight came,
Listening to its monotone.
Yet not always quite

alone,--
Brother, let me take the place
Just behind you now the
moon
Shines no longer in my face.
It is near two months ago
Since I met him, as I think,
By God's
mercy, when my horse
Trembled on the river's brink.
I had fallen,
but his arm
Firmly seized the bridle-rein,
And, with one decided
grasp,
Drew me back to life again.
I was grateful and essayed

Fitting words my thanks to speak.
Arthur, when the heart feels most,

Words, I think, are oftenest weak.
So I stammered and I fear,
What I said had little grace
But I knew
he understood,
By the smile upon his face.
There are faces--his was
such--
That are sealed when in repose;
Only when a smile floods
out,
All the soul in beauty glows.
With that smile I grew content,

And my heart grew strangely calm,
As with trustful step I walked,

My arm resting on his arm.
Brother, turn your face away,
So, dear, I can tell you best
All that
followed; but be sure
You are looking to the west.
Arthur, I have
seen him since,
Nearly every day, until
If I lose him, all my life

Would grow wan, and dark, and chill.
Brother, this my love impute

Not to me for maiden-shame;
He has sought me for his wife,
He
would crown me with his name.
Only yesterday he said
That my
love his life would bless:
Would I grant it? Arthur, dear,
Was I
wrong in saying "Yes"?
ROSE IN THE GARDEN.
THIRTY years have come and gone,
Melting away like Southern
Snows,
Since, in the light of a summer's night,
I went to the garden
to seek my Rose.
Mine! Do you hear it, silver moon,
Flooding my heart with your
mellow shine?
Mine! Be witness, ye distant stars,
Looking on me
with eyes divine!

Tell me, tell me, wandering winds,
Whisper it, if you may not speak--

Did you ever, in all your round,
Fan a lovelier brow or cheek?
Long I nursed in my heart the love,
Love which felt, but dared not tell,

Till, I scarcely know how or when--
It found wild words,- and all
was well!
I can hear her sweet voice even now--
It makes my pulses leap and
thrill--
"I owe you more than I well can pay;
You may take me,
Robert, if you will!"
One pleasant summer night,
the garden walks alone,
Looking about
with restless eyes,
Wondering whither my Rose had flown,
Till, from a leafy arbor near,
There came to my ears the sound of
speech.
Who can be with Rose to night?
Let me hide me under the
beach.
It must be one of her female friends,
Talking with her in the gloaming
gray;
Perchance--I thought--they may speak of me;
Let me listen to
what they say.
This I said with a careless smile,
And a joyous heart that was free
from fears;
Little I dreamed that the words I heard
Would weigh on
my heavy heart for years.
"Rose, my Rose! for your heart is mine,"
I heard in a low voice,
passion-fraught,
"In the sight of Heaven we are truly one;
Why will
you cast me away for naught?
"Will you give your hand where your heart goes not
To a man who is
grave and stern and old;
And whose love compared with my
passion-heat,
As the snow of the frozen North, is cold?"
And Rose--I could feel her cheek grow pale--
Her voice was
tremulous, then grew strong--
"Richard," she said, "your words are

wild,
And you do my guardian bitter wrong.
"Did you never hear how, years gone by," --
She spoke in a tremulous
undertone--
"Bereft of friends, o'er the world's highways,
I
wandered forth as a child alone?
"He opened to me his home and heart--
He whom you call so stern
and cold--
And my grateful heart I may well bestow
On him for his
kindness manifold."
"Rose," he said, in a saddened tone,
"I thank him for all he has done
for thee;
He has acted nobly--I did him wrong--
But is there no
voice in your heart for me?"
And Rose--she trembled--I felt it all;
I heard her quick breath come
and go;
Her voice was broken; she only said,
"Have pity, Richard,
and let me go!"
And then--Heaven gave me strength, I think--
I stood before them
calm and still;
You might have thought my tranquil breast
Had
never known one passion-thrill.
And they alternate flushed and paled;
Rose tottered, and I feared
would fall;
I caught her in supporting arms,
And whispered, "Rose,
I heard it all.
"I had a dream, but it is passed,
That we might journey, hand