Rose and Roof-Tree | Page 7

my babe was born.?O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!?Fair winds, boys: send her home!?O ye ho!
And, though so near we're drawing, now,?'T is farther off--I know not how--?I would not aught amiss had come?To babe or mother there, at home!?O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!?Fair winds, boys: send her home!?O ye ho!
'T is but a seeming: swiftly rush?The seas, beneath. I hear the crush?Of foamy ridges 'gainst the prow.?Longing outspeeds the breeze, I know.?O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!?Fair winds, boys: send her home!?O ye ho!
Patience, my mates! Though not this eve?We cast our anchor, yet believe,?If but the wind holds, short the run:?We 'll sail in with to-morrow's sun.?O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!?Fair winds, boys: send her home!?O ye ho!
JESSAMINE.
Here stands the great tree still, with broad, bent head,?And wide arms grown aweary, yet outspread?With their old blessing. But wan memory weaves?Strange garlands now amongst the darkening leaves.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Beneath these glimmering arches Jessamine?Walked with her lover long ago, and in?This moon-made shade he questioned; and she spoke:?Then on them both love's rarer radiance broke.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sweet Jessamine we called her; for she shone?Like blossoms that in sun and shade have grown,?Gathering from each alike a perfect white,?Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
And for this sweetness Walt, her lover, sought?To win her; wooed her here, his heart full-fraught?With fragrance of her being, and gained his plea.?So "We will wed," they said, "beneath this tree."
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Was it unfaith, or faith more full to her,?Made him, for fame and fortune longing, spur?Into the world? Far from his home he sailed:?And life paused; while she watched joy vanish, vailed.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Oh, better at the elm tree's sun-browned feet?If he had been content to let life fleet?Its wonted way!--there rearing his small house;?Mowing and milking, lord of corn and cows!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
For as against a snarling sea one steers,?Ever he battled with the beetling years;?And ever Jessamine must watch and pine,?Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
At last she heard no more. The neighbors said?That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead.?Yet naught her trust could move; the tryst she kept?Each night still, 'neath this tree, before she slept.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
So, circling years went by; and in her face?Slow melancholy wrought a tempered grace?Of early joy with sorrow's rich alloy--?Refin��d, rare, no doom should e'er destroy.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sometimes at twilight, when sweet Jessamine,?Slow-footed, weary-eyed, passed by to win?The elm, we smiled for pity of her, and mused?On love that so could live with love refused.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Nor none could hope for her. But she had grown?Too high in love for hope, and bloomed alone,?Aloft in pure sincerity secure;?For fortune's failures, in her faith too sure.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Oh, well for Walt, if he had known her soul!?Discouraged on disaster's changeful shoal?Wrecking, he rested; starved on selfish pride?Long years; nor would obey love's homeward tide.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
But, bitterly repenting of his sin,?Oh, bitterly he learned to look within?Sweet Jessamine's clear depth--when the past, dead,?Mocked him, and wild, waste years forever fled!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Late, late, oh, late beneath the tree stood two!?In awe and anguish wondering: "Is it true?"?Two that were each most like to some wan wraith:?Yet each on each looked with a living faith.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell;?Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.?Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed;?Beneath it many a year she lieth dead!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Here stands the great tree still. But age has crept?Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept?The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might?The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
GRIEF'S HERO.
A youth unto herself Grief took,?Whom everything of joy forsook,?And men passed with denying head,?Saying: "'T were better he were dead."
Grief took him, and with master-touch?Molded his being. I marveled much?To see her magic with the clay,?So much she gave--and took away.?Daily she wrought, and her design?Grew daily clearer and more fine,?To make the beauty of his shape?Serve for the spirit's free escape.?With liquid fire she filled his eyes.?She graced his lips with swift surmise?Of sympathy for others' woe,?And made his every fibre flow?In fairer curves. On brow and chin?And tinted cheek, drawn clean and thin,?She sculptured records rich, great Grief!?She made him loving, made him lief.
I marveled; for, where others saw?A failing frame with