Stories in Verse | Page 7

their depths,?Like lotus leaves o'er some Egyptian spring.?And they were dreamy, too, at intervals,?And glowed with tender beauty when she loved.?Her grace made for her such appropriate wear,?That, though her gown was of the coarsest cloth,?And though her duty was the lowest kind,?It seemed apparel more desirable?Than trailing robes of velvet or of silk.?Her voice was full, and sweet, and musical,?Soft as the low breathings of an instrument?Touched by the unseen fingers of the breeze.
VIII.
The large plantation, next to Dalton Earl's,?Was owned by Richard Wain, a hated man--?Hated among his slaves and in the town.?Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.?Two miles up by the river ran his lands;?And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods,?The slave found that seclusion he desired.?His only treasure was a Testament?Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.?Often the book was kept within his cot,?At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat?Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.?The words were sweet as wine of Eshcol grapes?To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.?Vague were the people, and the pageant moved,?Uncertain as the figures in the dusk;?Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief;?A lovely, noble face with sweeping beard,?And hair that trailed in beauty round his neck;?A patient man, whose deeds were always good.?Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.
IX.
In passing through the grounds of Richard Wain,?Karagwe found, upon a plat of grass,?Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends,?Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.?The sheets were closely written on and sealed.?Here was a long-sought opportunity?To learn the older letters of the pen.?That night the writings, wrapped about the Book,?Were safe within the hollow of the tree.
X.
All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.?That she will know my thought and understand."?He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,?Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,?And killed it; then, when morning came again,?Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.?"I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.?For if to-day you wear it in your hair,?When once again you come to walk the lane,?I then shall know that you are truly mine,?Willing to be my wife, and share my lot,?And let me toil with you like any bee;?But if you do not wear it, then I shall care?No more for anything; but waste my life,?A bee without a queen." Then not one word?Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she?Went from the house again to walk alone,?The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.?And him she met for whom the sign was meant,?And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.
XI.
The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,?Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane,?And caught a glimpse of her between the trees,?A picture, for an instant, in a frame.?He thought, "The prize I coveted is near;?She will be mine before the set of sun."?Returning soon, toward the house he went,?Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl,?And told him for what merchandise he came.?The girl was not for sale, the other said.?"You talk at random now," said Richard Wain,?"You know I hold the deed of all your lands,?And so, unless you let the woman go,?Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."?The planter turned a coward at the threat,?And knowing well what blood ran in the veins?Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.
Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,?And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.?Recovering, she rose upon her knees,?And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.?At this he told her how the lands were held,?And if she went not he must starve or beg.?"Then let the lands be sold, and sold again;?If his, they are not yours. What good will come?If I do go to him? then all is his.?Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.?O, it will break my heart to go away."?Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.
At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof,?Ruth passed, and uttered, with wild, angry words,?The hard conditions that had been imposed.?She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope:?There was a Hero, in a Book he read,?Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."?Then for the last, toward the planter's house?They walked, and o'er them saw the spider moon?Weaving the storm upon its web of cloud.
XII.
But Karagwe, when once he turned again,?Smote wildly his infuriated breast.?His fierce eyes flashed; he thirsted for revenge.?Then came a calmer mood, and far away?Sped the expelled thoughts like shuddering gusts of wind.?He wept that this injustice should be done;?Yet knew that in God's hand the scale was set,?And though His poor, down-trodden, waited long,?They waited surely, for His hour would come.
XIII.
The night passed, and the troublous morning broke,?And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.
The dark day died, and when the moon