Victor Roy, A Masonic poem | Page 8

in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright, Your
parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's
height.
Where do you live? What there, in that wretched barn of a
place! A man who can rent such dens should meet the contempt of his
race. What have you had to eat to-day? Why, how have you lived it out?
Your mother and you did sewing; oh yes, at starvation prices, no doubt.
Him? I know the man you have worked for then, he keeps his carriage
and
pair,
Gives largely to missionary funds, and is long and loud in grayer.
Never mind, the same All-Seeing Eye watches them come and go, That
noted the whited sepulchre two thousand years ago.
There, take that
coffee and cake, and when you are rested I'll come And see what has to
be done in your lonely, desolate home.
And Jasper, you'll come along
to take care of us both, and please bring Something to eat; a basket? yes,
filled with every good thing. There, don't be long Jasper, time flies; yes,
I know it is growing late, And Una and her lion have not so very long
to wait.
You used to read of Una, and wonder what made the lion stay;
Lions are useful, Ethel, sometimes to keep the jackals away. Why child,
are you ready so soon? Will you be my little guide? Oh, I cannot tell
you the worth of this; do you know where your grandpa
died?
You would rather I bought it--all right--who is at home, only
your mother,

dear?
A brother's daughter and orphan child must not perish while I
am near. You knew that God would help you, have you learnt to trust
and love Him
too?
There's another link between us then, ever old and ever new.
You're afraid the storm will hurt me, you are used to the frosty air;
We'll brave it together for once, so come little Ethel Adair.
Aimee's Soliloquy.
And has she gone--that fair, frail, gentle flower--
Out in this scene of
winter's frost-forged power?
Oh, heaven, have I been selfish in my
woe?
Sweet angels guard her through the blinding snow.
Ethel, my
child, my comforter, my stay,
It seems a long dream since the
summer day
When first she came to me, in that far land
Where the
bright Darro laves the gleaming sand.
'Neath the blue skies of Spain
her baby feet
First walked amid the southern bowers, sweet
With
breath of jasemine; and the green vines twined
Their gentle arms,
clasping the golden rind
Of ripened oranges, and the rose-hung
bowers
Glowed with the glory of a thousand flowers.
And oft at
night, up the dark waters came
The splash of oars, beneath the stars
white flame
Sounded the solemn chant of sailors nigh,
"Ave Maria!
save us, hear our cry."
But to my babe and I there came no hymn,

No hallowing words amid the olives dim,
Only the same dark blight
on every scene,
The leper's mournful cry, "Unclean, unclean."
For
then 'twas whispered that dark deeds of shame
Wreathed with a
viper's slime our household name.
I know not all the truth, but I am
sure
The path of sin is downward, and the poor
Weak soul that
yields is bound by fetters tight
'Till comes the end as it has come
to-night.
And he lies there; oh, in this bitter cup
Which Thou, my
Father, bids't me drink up.
I bless thy strong, calm power, which,
through the years,
The long, dark, downward time of change and tears

Hast kept before my dimmed and fading sight
One word which
warned with an undying light,

When love had proved an "_ignis

fatuus_" gleam.
Duty stood forward with a godlike beam,
And
brought before the fainting sickened heart,
The words God listened to,
"till death us part,"
Two short words, Love and Duty, when together

How bearable the rains of stormy weather;
But when they unclasp
hands, e'en then the dew
Grows into ice-points, piercing through and
through.
"Till death us part," and am I really free?
Is the chain
severed for eternity?
Look back my conscience, for the hours go fast,

Through the dim corridors of the far past.
Oh memory, from what
point will thou start,
Back to the time when Victor won my heart;

He was my idol, bright star of my life,
Our home was planned, I was
to be his wife;
When off to India he sailed far away,
Expecting to
return an early day.
Ah, that last night when he put out to sea,

When by his side I sang "Abide with me;"
Ah, mournful days, yet
hopes bright fires would burn,
Giving warm promise of his quick
return,
Oft would I stand beside the untiring seas,
And send him
words of love and trust like these:
"Evening's gloom is round me now,
Evening's breeze is whispering
low,
Gentle murmuring voices wake
From the ripples of the lake.

Maker of the land and sea,
Hear my humble evening plea,
Father,
hear me as I pray,
One I love is far away.
Guide the bark that bears him on,
Up the mountain's towering height,

And the misty damps of night,
In the