Dreams and Days | Page 7

doom-word hummed in his ear:

Ah, weak were woman's hands to reach
And save him from the
hellish charms
And wizard motion of those arms!
Yet only noble
womanhood
The wife her dauntless part could teach:
She shared
with him the last dry food
And thronged with hopefulness her speech,

As when hard by her home the flood
Of rushing Conestoga fills

Its depth afresh from springtide rills!
All, all in vain!
For far behind the invading rout
These two were
left alone;
And in the waste their wildest shout
Seemed but a
smothered groan.
Like sheeted wanderers from the grave
They
moved, and yet seemed not to stir,
As icy gorge and sere-leaf'd grove

Of withered oak and shrouded fir
Were passed, and onward still
they strove;
While the loud wind's artillery clave
The air, and
furious sleety rain
Swung like a sword above the plain!
VI
They crossed the hills; they came to where
Through an arid gloom
the river Chaudiere
Fled like a Maenad with outstreaming hair;
And
there the soldier sank, and died.
Death-dumb he fell; yet ere life sped,

Child-like on her knee he laid his head.
She strove to pray; but all
words fled
Save those their love had sanctified.
And then her voice rose waveringly
To the notes of a mother's lullaby;

But her song was only "Ah, must thou die?"
And to her his eyes
death-still replied.
VII
Dead leaves and stricken boughs
She heaped o'er the fallen form--

Wolf nor hawk nor lawless storm
Him from his rest should rouse;

But first, with solemn vows,
Took rifle, pouch, and horn,
And the

belt that he had worn.
Then, onward pressing fast
Through the
forest rude and vast,
Hunger-wasted, fever-parch'd,
Many bitter
days she marched
With bleeding feet that spurned the flinty pain;

One thought always throbbing through her brain:
"They shall never
say, 'He was afraid,'--
They shall never cry, 'The coward stayed!'"
VIII
Now the wilderness is passed;
Now the first hut reached, at last.
Ho, dwellers by the frontier trail,
Come forth and greet the bride of
war!
From cabin and rough settlement
They come to speed her on
her way--
Maidens, whose ruddy cheeks grow pale
With pity never
felt before;
Children that cluster at the door;
Mothers, whose
toil-worn hands are lent
To help, or bid her longer stay.
But through
them all she passes on,
Strangely martial, fair and wan;
Nor waits to
listen to their cheers
That sound so faintly in her ears.
For now all
scenes around her shift,
Like those before a racer's eyes
When,
foremost sped and madly swift,
Quick stretching toward the goal he
flies,
Yet feels his strength wane with his breath,
And purpose fail
'mid fears of death,--
Till, like the flashing of a lamp,
Starts forth the sight of Arnold's
camp,--
The bivouac flame, and sinuous gleam
Of steel,--where,
crouched, the army waits,
Ere long, beyond the midnight stream,
To
storm Quebec's ice-mounded gates.
IX
Then to the leader she was brought,
And spoke her simply loyal
thought.
If, 'mid the shame of after-days,
The man who wronged his
country's trust
(Yet now in worth outweighed all praise)

Remembered what this woman wrought,

It should have bowed him to
the dust!
"Humbly my soldier-husband tried
To do his part. He
served,--and died.
But honor did not die. His name
And

honor--bringing both, I came;
And this his rifle, here, to show,

While far away the tired heart sleeps,
To-day his faith with you he
keeps!"
Proudly the war bride, ending so,
Sank breathless in the dumb white
snow.
A RUNE OF THE RAIN
O many-toned rain!
O myriad sweet voices of the rain!
How
welcome is its delicate overture
At evening, when the moist and
glowing west
Seals all things with cool promise of night's rest.
At first it would allure
The earth to kinder mood,
With dainty
flattering
Of soft, sweet pattering:
Faintly now you hear the tramp

Of the fine drops, falling damp
On the dry, sun-seasoned ground

And the thirsty leaves, resound.
But anon, imbued
With a sudden,
bounding access
Of passion, it relaxes
All timider persuasion.

And, with nor pretext nor occasion,
Its wooing redoubles;
And
pounds the ground, and bubbles
In sputtering spray,
Flinging itself
in a fury
Of flashing white away;
Till the dusty road,

Dank-perfumed, is o'erflowed;
And the grass, and the wide-hung
trees,
The vines, the flowers in their beds,--
The virid corn that to
the breeze
Rustles along the garden-rows,--
Visibly lift their heads,

And, as the quick shower wilder grows,
Upleap with answering
kisses to the rain.
Then, the slow and pleasant murmur
Of its subsiding,
As the pulse
of the storm beats firmer,
And the steady rain
Drops into a
cadenced chiding!
Deep-breathing rain,
The sad and ghostly noise


Wherewith thou dost complain---
Thy plaintive, spiritual voice,

Heard thus at close of day
Through vaults of twilight gray--
Vexes
me with sweet pain;
And still my soul is fain
To know the secret of
that yearning
Which in thine utterance I hear returning.
Hush, oh

hush!
Break not the dreamy rush
Of the rain:
Touch not the
marring doubt
Words bring to the certainty
Of its soft refrain;
But
let the flying fringes flout
Their drops against the pane,
And the
gurgling throat of the water-spout
Groan in the eaves amain.
The earth is wedded to the shower;
Darkness and awe gird round the
bridal hour!
II
O many-toned rain!
It hath caught the strain
Of a wilder tune,
Ere
the same night's noon,
When dreams and sleep forsake me,
And
sudden dread doth wake me,
To hear the booming drums of heaven
beat
The long