 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
VI
1
On river and height and salty moors the haze of autumn fell,
And the cloud of a troubled joy enwrapt the face of Hugh as well,—
The spell of a secret haunt that far from home his footsteps drew;
A love which over the brow of youth the mask of manhood threw.
And the cloud of a troubled joy enwrapt the face of Hugh as well,—
The spell of a secret haunt that far from home his footsteps drew;
A love which over the brow of youth the mask of manhood threw.
Birds of the air to the father, at length, the common rumor brought:
“Your son,” they sang, “in the cunning toils of a rustic lass is caught!”
“A fit betrothal,” the lawyer said, “must make these follies cease;
Which shall it be?—the banker's ward?—Edith, the judge's niece?”
“Your son,” they sang, “in the cunning toils of a rustic lass is caught!”
“A fit betrothal,” the lawyer said, “must make these follies cease;
Which shall it be?—the banker's ward?—Edith, the judge's niece?”
“Father, I pray”—said Hugh. “O yes!” out-leapt the other's mood,
“I hear of your wanton loiterings; they ill become your blood!
If you hold our name at such light worth, forbear to darken the life
Of this Alice Dale”—“No, Alice Van Ghelt! father, she is my wife.”
“I hear of your wanton loiterings; they ill become your blood!
If you hold our name at such light worth, forbear to darken the life
Of this Alice Dale”—“No, Alice Van Ghelt! father, she is my wife.”
31
2
Worldlings, who say the eagle should mate with eagle, after his kind,
Nor have learned from what far and diverse cliffs the twain each other find,
Yours is the old, old story, of age forgetting its wiser youth;
Of eyes which are keen for others' good and blind to an inward truth.
Nor have learned from what far and diverse cliffs the twain each other find,
Yours is the old, old story, of age forgetting its wiser youth;
Of eyes which are keen for others' good and blind to an inward truth.
But the pride which closed the father's doors swelled in the young man's veins,
And he led his bride, in the sight of all, through the pleasant Monmouth lanes,
To the little farm his grandsire gave, years since, for a birthday gift:
Unto such havens unforeseen the barks of our fortune drift!
And he led his bride, in the sight of all, through the pleasant Monmouth lanes,
To the little farm his grandsire gave, years since, for a birthday gift:
Unto such havens unforeseen the barks of our fortune drift!
There, for a happy pastoral year, he tilled the teeming field,
Scattered the marl above his land, and gathered the orchard's yield;
And Alice, in fair and simple guise, kissed him at evenfall;
And her face was to him an angel's face, and love was all in all.
Scattered the marl above his land, and gathered the orchard's yield;
And Alice, in fair and simple guise, kissed him at evenfall;
And her face was to him an angel's face, and love was all in all.
—What is this light in the southern sky, painting a red alarm?
What is this trumpet call, which sounds through peaceful village and farm,—
Jarring the sweet idyllic rest, stilling the children's throng,
Hushing the cricket on the hearth, and the lovers' evening song?
What is this trumpet call, which sounds through peaceful village and farm,—
Jarring the sweet idyllic rest, stilling the children's throng,
Hushing the cricket on the hearth, and the lovers' evening song?
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |