Debris | Page 6

his saber's point,?Unmerited disgrace.?With indignation all aflame?He meets some rival's stare;?But for all answer gives the worlds?A freezing "I don't care!"
A woman's heart is trifled with,?Her hopes are ground to dust,?Her proud soul humbled with neglect,?Betrayed her sacred trust,?Yet, while to desperation stung,?With death and ruin there,?She'll crush the tears and cheat you with?A laughing "I don't care?"
"I don't care!" 'tis but a breath,?The words are seeming fair,?But many a heartache lies beneath?A careless "I don't care!"
A STAINED LILY.
Some lilies grew by a brook-side,?Tall and white, and cold,?And lifted up to the sunshine?Their great red hearts of gold.
And near to their bed grew mosses,?rank vines, and flowers small,?And loathsome weeds, and thistles,?And the sunlight warmed them all.
Anon, the proud white lilies?Were gathered one by one,?Each to crown a festal?Rarest under the sun.
One lily stooped to the brooklet,?Her face she knew was fair,?And the face of flowing water?Mirrored her image there.
A hand upraised in envy,?Or carelessness, or jest,?Flung from the turbid water,?Mud, on the lily's breast.
And all the proud, white lilies?Turned their faces away,?And nobody plucked that lily,?And day, and night, and day
She wept for her ruined beauty:?And the dew-drops, and the rain,?Touched with her tears, in pity?Fell on the muddy stain.
Still stood she in her grieving?Day, and night, and day;?Nor tears, nor dew, nor rain-drops,?Could fade the stain away.
Pining in desolation,?Shunned by each of her kind,?Sought she a bitter solace?In creatures of a coarser mind.
But the breath of the nettle stung her,?And the thistle's rude embrace?Burned her sensitive nature,?And scarred the fair, stained face.
Lower drooped the lily,?And died at the feet of the weeds;?And only the tender mosses?Ministered to her needs.
And still the tall while lilies?Stand as cold, and proud,?And still the weeds and thistles?Against the lilies crowd.
Alike the same warm sunbeams,?On weed and flower fall,?Alike by the same soil nourished,?And the great God made them all.

A VALENTINE.
I love thee for the soul that shines?Within thine eyes' soft beaming,?From out whose depths the prisoned fires?Of intellect are gleaming.
I love thee for the mind that soars?Beyond earth's narrow keeping,?That measures suns, and stars, and worlds,?Through boundless limits sweeping.
I love thee for the voice whose power?Can in my heart awaken?To passioned life each slumbering chord?The ruder tones have shaken.
Thou ne'er, perchance, mayst feel the chain?With which this love has bound thee,?Nor dream thee of the hand that flung?Its glittering links around thee.
And vainly mayst thou deem the task?Thy captive bounds to sever--?Who madly dates to love thee now?Will love thee on forever.

WHICH ONE.
Each was as fair as the other,?And both as my life were dear;?And the voices that lisped me mother,?Heaven's music in my ear.
One faded from life--and mother,?And died in the summer dawn;?And I turned away from the other?And wept for the child that was gone.
Then I lay in a weird sleep-vision,?Before me an earth dark scene,?And the land of the sweet Elysian,?And only a grave between.
One child soft called me mother?Out from the shining door,?And smile and beckoned; the other?Unconsciously played on the floor.
One's path, to my inward seeing,?Was light with a wondrous day,?And led to the heights of being,?And an angel showed the way.
The other lay where Marah's?Hot sands with snares are strewn--?Through many a darksome forest,?And the way was roughly hewn.
A faith to my soul was given--?The weird sleep-vision o'er--?And I turned from the child in heaven?To the child that played on the floor.

LIFE'S WAY.
Good-bye, sweetheart, he said, and clasped her hand,?And rained his kisses on her tear-wet face;?Then broke away, and in a foreign land.?For her dear sake, sought gold, that he might place
Love's jeweled crown upon his queen's fair brow,?And pour his hard-won treasures at her feet;?And swore, than Heaven, than life itself, his vow?To her he held more sacred and more sweet.
She waited as the woman only may?Whose eyes are blinded oft with unshed tears;?Lines on her forehead grew, and threads of gray;?The weary days crept into weary years.
"Oh stars, go down! Oh sun, be shrouded now!?My love comes not; he does not live," she said;?And brushed the curls he'd kissed back from her brow,?And pout on mourning for her dead.
And still as oft the day came round that he?Had left his warm good-bye upon her lips,?As oft she sought the head-land by sea,?And longing watched the far-off white-sailed ships.
To-day, the low sand-beach was over-strewn;?Torn sail, and broken spar and human form,?'Gulfed by the waves, and crushed, and then out-thrown--?A ship went down in yester-night's wild storm.
She walked among the debris, and the dead,?As some sweet mercy-sister on her round,?Scanning each up-turned face with nameless dread,?For aught of life; her tireless searching found
A babe--a waif with tawny tangled locks,?And great blue eyes with wonder brimming o'er;?Of all the human freight wrecked on the rocks,?The only living thing that washed ashore.
A pearl-gemmed golden case upon its breast?She oped, then stared, her eyes a-sudden wild,?A name, a