The Mistress of the Manse | Page 3

A spray of sound--across the keys
That felt her fingers for the first;

And then, from simplest cadences,
A reverent melody she nursed,

And gave it voice in words like these:
"From full forgetfulness of pain,
From joy to opening joy again,

With bird and flower, and hill and tree,
We lift our eyes and hands, to
thee,
To greet thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth
"That thou dost bathe our souls anew
With balm and boon of
heavenly dew,
And smilest in our upward eyes
From the far blue of
smiling skies,
We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!
"For human love and love divine,
For love of ours and love of thine,

For heaven on earth and heaven above--
To thee and us twin homes
of love--
We thank thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!
"Oh dove-like wings, so wide unfurled
In brooding calm above the

world!
Waft us your holy peace, and raise
The incense of our
morning praise
Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!"
VII.
Full fleetly sped the morning hours;
Then, wide upon the country
round
A tumult of melodious powers
In tumult of melodious sound

Burst forth from all the village towers.
With blow on blow, and tone on tone,
And echoes answering
everywhere--
Like bugles from the mountains blown--
Each sought
to whelm the burdened air,
And make the silence all its own.
In broad, sonorous, silver swells
The air was billowed like the sea;

And listening ears were listening shells
That caught the Sabbath
minstrelsy,
And sang it with the singing bells.
The billows heaved, the billows broke,
The first wild burst went
down amain;
The music fell to slower stroke,
And in a rhythmic,
bold refrain
The great bells to each other spoke.
Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word,
And sharply silver made
reply,
And every tower and turret stirred
With sounding breath and
converse high,
Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.
And long they talked, as friend to friend;
Then faltered to their
closing toll,
Whose long, monotonous repetend,
From every
music-burdened bowl
Poured the last drop, and brought the end!
VIII.
The chapel's chime fell slow and soft,
And throngs slow-marching to
its knoll
From village home and distant croft,
With careful feet and
reverent soul
Pressed toward the open door, but oft

Turned curious and expectant eyes
Upon the Manse that stood apart.

There in her quiet, bridal guise
Fair Mildred sat with shrinking
heart;
While Philip, bold and over wise,
And knowing naught of woman's ways,
Smiled at her fears, and could
not guess
How one so armored in his praise,
And strong in native
loveliness,
Could dread to meet his people's gaze.
He could not know her fine alarm
When at his manly side she stood,

And, leaning faintly on his arm--
A dainty slip of womanhood--

Walked forth where every girlish charm
Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,
Among the slowly moving
crowd
That, greedy of the precious chance,
Read furtively, but half
aloud,
The pages of their new romance.
"A child!" And Mildred caught the word.
"A plaything!" And,
another voice:
"Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!"
And still one
more; "A parson's choice!"
And trembling Mildred overheard.
These from the careless or the dull--
Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts;

And though her quickened ear might cull
From out their whispered
thunderbolts
A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!"
And though sweet mother-faces smiled,
And bows were given with
friendly grace,
And many a pleasant little child
Sought sympathy
within her face,
Her aching heart was not beguiled.
She did not see--she only felt--
As up the staring aisle she walked--

The critic glances, coldly dealt,
By those who looked, and bent, and
talked;
And, even, when at last she knelt
Alone within the pastor's pew,
And prayed for self-forgetfulness

With deep humility, she knew
She gave her figure and her dress
To
careful eyes with closer view.

IX.
At length she raised her head, and tossed
A burden from her heart,
and brain.
She would have love at any cost
Of weary toil and
patient pain,
And rightful ease and pleasure lost!
They could not love her for his sake;
They would not, and her heart
forgave.
Why should a woman stoop to take
The poor endowment
of a slave,
And like a menial choose to make
Her master's mantle half her own?
They loved her least who loved
him most:
They envied her her little throne!
He who was cherished
by a host
Was hers by gift, and hers alone,
And she would prove her woman's right
To hold the throne to which
the king
Had called her, clothing her with white;
And never would
she show her ring
To win a loving proselyte!
These were the thoughts and this the strife
That through her kindling
spirit swept,
And wrought her purposes of life;
And powers that
waked and powers that slept
Within the sweet and girlish wife.
Sprang into energy intense,
At touch of an inspiring chrism
That
fell on her, she knew not whence,
And lifted her to heroism
Which
wrapped her wholly, soul and sense.
X.
Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space
The organ sent its angels
out;
And up and down the holy place
They fanned the cheeks of
care and doubt,
And touched each worn and weary face
With beauty as their wings went by:
Then sailed afar with peaceful
sweep,
And, calling heavenward every