Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces | Page 9

lightnings shone?From the sward near me, as from a nether sky.
And much surprised was I that, spent and dead,?They should not, like the many, be at rest,?But stray as apparitions; hence I said,?"Why, having slipped life, hark you back distressed?
"We are among the few death sets not free,?The hurt, misrepresented names, who come?At each year's brink, and cry to History?To do them justice, or go past them dumb.
"We are stript of rights; our shames lie unredressed,?Our deeds in full anatomy are not shown,?Our words in morsels merely are expressed?On the scriptured page, our motives blurred, unknown."
Then all these shaken slighted visitants sped?Into the vague, and left me musing there?On fames that well might instance what they had said,?Until the New-Year's dawn strode up the air.
"AH, ARE YOU DIGGING ON MY GRAVE?"
"Ah, are you digging on my grave
My loved one?--planting rue?"?- "No: yesterday he went to wed?One of the brightest wealth has bred.?'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest dearest kin?"?- "Ah, no; they sit and think, 'What use!?What good will planting flowers produce??No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But some one digs upon my grave?
My enemy?--prodding sly?"?- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate?That shuts on all flesh soon or late,?She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie."
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say--since I have not guessed!"?- "O it is I, my mistress dear,?Your little dog, who still lives near,?And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah, yes! YOU dig upon my grave . . .
Why flashed it not on me?That one true heart was left behind!?What feeling do we ever find?To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case?I should be hungry near this spot?When passing on my daily trot.?I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting-place."
SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCES?IN FIFTEEN GLIMPSES
I--AT TEA
The kettle descants in a cozy drone,?And the young wife looks in her husband's face,?And then at her guest's, and shows in her own?Her sense that she fills an envied place;?And the visiting lady is all abloom,?And says there was never so sweet a room.
And the happy young housewife does not know?That the woman beside her was first his choice,?Till the fates ordained it could not be so . . .?Betraying nothing in look or voice?The guest sits smiling and sips her tea,?And he throws her a stray glance yearningly.
II--IN CHURCH
"And now to God the Father," he ends,?And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles:?Each listener chokes as he bows and bends,?And emotion pervades the crowded aisles.?Then the preacher glides to the vestry-door,?And shuts it, and thinks he is seen no more.
The door swings softly ajar meanwhile,?And a pupil of his in the Bible class,?Who adores him as one without gloss or guile,?Sees her idol stand with a satisfied smile?And re-enact at the vestry-glass?Each pulpit gesture in deft dumb-show?That had moved the congregation so.
III--BY HER AUNT'S GRAVE
"Sixpence a week," says the girl to her lover,?"Aunt used to bring me, for she could confide?In me alone, she vowed. 'Twas to cover?The cost of her headstone when she died.?And that was a year ago last June;?I've not yet fixed it. But I must soon."
"And where is the money now, my dear?"?"O, snug in my purse . . . Aunt was SO slow?In saving it--eighty weeks, or near." . . .?"Let's spend it," he hints. "For she won't know.?There's a dance to-night at the Load of Hay."?She passively nods. And they go that way.
IV--IN THE ROOM OF THE BRIDE-ELECT
"Would it had been the man of our wish!"?Sighs her mother. To whom with vehemence she?In the wedding-dress--the wife to be -?"Then why were you so mollyish?As not to insist on him for me!"?The mother, amazed: "Why, dearest one,?Because you pleaded for this or none!"
"But Father and you should have stood out strong!?Since then, to my cost, I have lived to find?That you were right and that I was wrong;?This man is a dolt to the one declined . . .?Ah!--here he comes with his button-hole rose.?Good God--I must marry him I suppose!"
V--AT A WATERING-PLACE
They sit and smoke on the esplanade,?The man and his friend, and regard the bay?Where the far chalk cliffs, to the left displayed,?Smile sallowly in the decline of day.?And saunterers pass with laugh and jest -?A handsome couple among the rest.
"That smart proud pair," says the man to his friend,?"Are to marry next week . . . How little he thinks?That dozens of days and nights on end?I have stroked her neck, unhooked the links?Of her sleeve to get at her upper arm . . .?Well, bliss is in ignorance: what's the harm!"
VI --IN THE CEMETERY
"You see those mothers squabbling there?"?Remarks