The Mistress of the Manse | Page 5

she watched her down the street,?With brow grown bright with sunny thought,?And heart o'erfilled with something sweet,?She knew the vagrant child had brought?The blessing of the Paraclete.
She turned from out the blazing noon,?And sought her chamber's quiet shade,?Like one who had received a boon?She might not show, but which essayed?Expression in a happy croon.
And then, outleaping from the mesh?Of Memory's net, like bird or bee,?There thrilled her spirit and her flesh?This old half-song, half-rhapsody,?That sang, or said itself, afresh:
"Poor little wafer of silver!?More precious to me than its cost!?It was worn of both image and legend,?But priceless because it was lost.?My chamber I carefully swept;?I hunted, and wondered, and wept;?And I found it at last with a cry:?"Oh dear little jewel!" said I;?And I washed it with tears all the day;?Then I kissed it, and put it away.
"Poor little lamb of the sheepfold!?Unlovely and feeble it grew;?But it wandered away to the mountains,?And was fairer the further it flew.?I followed with hurrying feet?At the call of its pitiful bleat,?And precious, with wonderful charms,?I caught it at last in my arms,?And bore it far back to its keep,?And kissed it and put it to sleep.
"Poor little vagrant from Heaven!?It wandered away from the fold,?And its weakness and danger endowed it?With value more precious than gold.?Oh happy the day when it came,?And my heart learned its beautiful name!?Oh happy the hour when I fed?This waif of the angels with bread!?And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed?Was sheltered and nourished and kissed!"
XVII.
To Philip, Mildred was a child,?Or a fair angel, to be kept?From all things earthly undenied,?One who upon his bosom slept,?And only waked to be beguiled
From loneliness and homely care?By love's unfailing ministry;?No toil of his was she to share,?No burden hers, that should not be?Left for his stronger hands to bear.
His love enwrapped her as a robe,?Which seemed, by its supernal charm,?To shield from every poisoned probe?Of earthly pain and earthly harm?This one choice creature of the globe.
The love he bore her lifted him?Into a bright, sweet atmosphere?That filled with beauty to the brim?The world beneath him, far and near,?And stained the clouds that draped its rim.
Toil was not toil, except in name;?Care was not care, but only means?To feed with holy oil the flame?That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes?Through which her figure went and came.
Her smile of welcome was his meed;?Her presence was his great reward;?He questioned sadly if, indeed,?He loved more loyally his Lord,?Or if his Lord felt greater need.
And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood,?Knew all his love, but might not tell?How in his thought, so large and good,?And in his heart, there did not dwell?The measure of her womanhood.
She knew the girlish charm would fade;?She knew the rapture would abate;?That years would follow when the maid,?Merged in the matron, and sedate?With change, and sitting in the shade
Of a great nature, would become?As poor and pitiful a thing?As an old idol, and as dumb,--?A clog upon an upward wing,--?A value stricken from the sum
Which a true woman's hand would raise?To mighty numbers, and endow?With kingly power and crowning praise.?She must be mate of his; but how??And, dreaming of a thousand ways
Her hands would work, her feet would tread,?She thought to match him as a man!?His books should be her daily bread;?She would run swiftly where he ran,?And follow closely where he led.
XVIII.
Since time began, the perfect day?Has robbed the morrow of its wealth,?And squandered, in its lavish sway,?The balm and beauty of the stealth,?And left its golden throne in gray.
So when the Sunday light declined,?A cold wind sprang and shut the flowers?Then vagrant voices, undefined,?Grew louder through the evening hours,?Till the old chimney howled and whined
As if it were a frightened beast,?That witnessed from its dizzy post?The loathsome forms and grewsome feast?And hideous mirth of ghoul and ghost,?As on they crowded from the East.
The willow, gathered into sheaves?Of scorpions by spectral arms,?Swung to and fro, and whipped the eaves,?And filled the house with weird alarms?That hissed from all its tortured leaves.
And in the midnight came the rain;--?In spiteful needles at the first;?But soon on roof and window-pane?The slowly gathered fury burst?In floods that came, and came again,
And poured their roaring burden out.?They swept along the sounding street,?Then paused, and then with shriek and shout?Hurtled as if a myriad feet?Had joined the dread and deafening rout.
But ere the welcome morning broke,?The loud wind fell, though gray and chill?The drizzling rain and drifting smoke?Drove slowly toward the westward hill,?Half hidden in its phantom cloak.
And through the mist a clumsy smack,?Deep loaded with her clumsy freight,?With shifting boom and frequent tack,?Like a huge ghost that wandered late,?Reeled by upon her devious track.
XIX.
So Mildred, with prophetic ken,?Saw in the long and rainy day?The dreaded host of friendly men?And friendly women, kept away,?And time for love, and book, and pen.
But while she looked,