Grandther Baldwins Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems | Page 5

and handsome Arnold Lee?
Fate had placed us far apart;

Why, then, did my restless heart
Flutter when his careless glance

Fell on me by merest chance?
Foolish, foolish Barbara!
There are faces--are there not?-
That can never be forgot.
Looks
that seen but once impress
With peculiar vividness.
So it was with
Arnold Lee.
Why it was I cannot say
That, through all the livelong
day
He seemed ever near to me.
While I raked, as in a dream,

Now the same place o'er and o'er,
Till my little sister chid,
And
with full eyes opened wide,
Much in wonder, gently cried,
"Why,
what ails thee, Barbara?"
I am in the fields again;
'Tis a pleasant day in June,
All the
songsters are in tune,
Pouring out their matin hymn.
All at once a
conscious thrill

Led me, half against my will,
To look up. Abashed
I see
His dark eyes full fixed on me.
What he said I do not know,

But his voice was soft and low,
As he spoke in careless chat,
Now
of this and now of that,
While the murmurous waves of sound

Wafted me a bliss profound.

Foolish, foolish Barbara!
Am I waking? Scarce I know
If I wake or if I dream,
So unreal all
things seem;
Yet I could not well forego
This sweet dream, if
dream it be,
That has brought such joy to me.
He has told me that
he loves me,-
He in rank so far above me;
And when I, with cheeks
aglow,
Told him that it was not 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