University of Virginia Library

In her tiring room she sat,
Saucy Effie!
In an olden chair of state,
Carven fine—more meet, pardie!
For her grandame's majesty,
Than for Effie.
Robe and band were laid aside,
And her brown hair floated wide
O'er her shoulders, that were seen
Snowy-white its waves between.
And those self-same wavelets too
Hid the sunny brow from view;
But the little face peeped through,
Rosy-fresh, and very fair,
Of an elfin beauty rare,
Lit with smiles as lilies are,
When the sunshine from their chalice drinketh up the dew.

Had the sunshine found her there,
Saucy Effie?
Cloudy sky and heavy air
Were night's stormy harbingers,—
But heart-sunshine, that was hers,
Joyous Effie!
You might see it gleaming up
From that merry heart's full cup;
Gleaming up, and brimming o'er
In rich sparkles evermore,
Till the little face grew bright
With excess of inner light—
Deeper tints the cheek displayed,
Archer smiles the lips arrayed,
And the dark eyes flashed their splendour through the drooping tresses' shade.

In her hand she held a flower,
Saucy Effie—
Relic of some by-gone hour,
Shrunk and withered, sere and brown,
All its whilome fairness flown,
Foolish Effie!—
From her bosom's seereey
She with drew it stealthily,
And her silver laugh rang clear:—
“Little wots he thou art here,
Snowdrop of the long ago,
Treasured up and cherished so,—
And, good sooth! he ne'er shall know!”—
Then the brow was lifted high
In a mimic royalty,
Very brief; for soon she pressed
That poor withered bosom-guest
To her pitying lips, I wis.
Whereupon, a sudden flush
Wrapped her beauty, blush on blush,
Like the mantling of the morning at the sun's first kiss.

And a name she murmured oft,
Foolish Effie!
Murmured low and murmured soft,
With a music like the bee's,
Full of honeyed flatteries—
Loving Effie!
Or like that the streamlet weaves,
Rippling, in calm summer eves,
Round the water-lily's leaves.
And because she spoke so low,
All the silence seemed to grow
Deeper, that no tone might be
Lost of that sweet harmony.
So, the name was heard full clear,
Uttered now in frolic glee,
Now in earnest verity,
And with fond reiteration, as of lover lief and dear.

And she dreamed not, smiling sly,
Simple Effie!
That perchance some bird was nigh—
That a little bird o' the air
Might be hovering round her there,
Foolish Effie!
Swift to hear and swift to tell
All her story passing well:
All the love dissembled so,
Burning bright beneath the snow,—
All the tender fancies, worn
Softly 'neath a mask of scorn:—
That, in short, this bird might bear
All her secret full and fair,
In its flittings to and fro,
To that one who “ne'er should know:”—
Not a thought of all this ruin had she, sitting lonely there!

Not a thought! But, well-a-day!
Hapless Effie!
When the morning light shone gray,
Through the greenwood far away
Roamed a youth, with visage gay;
And he laughed a merry laughter, and the greenwood heard him say—

“Mock me now the livelong day,
Mistress Effie!
Frown and fume as best you may—
Nathless, let what will befall,
I shall see you still through all,
Loving Effie!
Mock my flowers—my wild-wood posies,
Hedge-row violets and white roses—
Eyes averted, coldly shun them,—
Little foot, tread proudly on them,
Spurning such?—ah! yes, I know—
But anear thy heart also,
‘Treasured up and cherished so,
Snowdrop of the long ago!’
Mock me with your gibes and jeers,
Sounding strange in other ears
That believe thee void of guile,
And that hear thee not thee while,
As I hear thee, murmur oft
Murmur low and murmur soft,
Other words, that back recall
Those hard jestings one and all.
Other words—ay, pr'ythee, still,
If it please thee, mock thy fill:
Mock me with thy lofty graces,
And thy pitying grimaces,
And the smiles on other faces;
Mock me with all signs that tell
Of a scorn unspeakable:
But, despite thy fancied thrall,—
Though all this and worse befall,
By that little withered token
And that name so fondly spoken,
I shall know thee loving Effie,—I shall see the love through all!”