 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
BY THE BANKS.
I stood on the bank of a River,
When the day was dawning fair;
And I watched the willows quiver,
In the dim and dewy air.
And through the mists of the morning,
I saw like a passing dream;
The young in their proud adorning,
As they floated down the stream.
When the day was dawning fair;
And I watched the willows quiver,
In the dim and dewy air.
And through the mists of the morning,
I saw like a passing dream;
The young in their proud adorning,
As they floated down the stream.
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And the birds, they sang in the sedges,
With a playful pleasant tone;
As they sing in the April hedges,
When they sing for love alone.
And afar the forms of the cattle,
They loomed through the early light;
While the water's mystic prattle,
Seemed awakening from the night.
With a playful pleasant tone;
As they sing in the April hedges,
When they sing for love alone.
And afar the forms of the cattle,
They loomed through the early light;
While the water's mystic prattle,
Seemed awakening from the night.
And the river from its sources,
Rolled on in its newborn strength;
Till the tide of its joyous forces,
Broke out into song at length.
With a free and frolic motion,
It told of the bliss in store;
It spoke of the glorious Ocean,
And the wonders of its shore.
Rolled on in its newborn strength;
Till the tide of its joyous forces,
Broke out into song at length.
With a free and frolic motion,
It told of the bliss in store;
It spoke of the glorious Ocean,
And the wonders of its shore.
All things appeared fair and tender,
And bright with the brow of youth;
They were fresh in their virgin splendour,
And sweet as the face of truth.
They had not a thought of sadness,
As they moved to the morning's call;
They lived—and to live was gladness,
They loved—and to love was all.
And bright with the brow of youth;
They were fresh in their virgin splendour,
And sweet as the face of truth.
They had not a thought of sadness,
As they moved to the morning's call;
They lived—and to live was gladness,
They loved—and to love was all.
And I with a head that was hoary,
With a heart whose fires burnt low,
Looked on at the happy story,
That was mine in the long ago.
And I who had passed through danger,
Who knew that the flowers would fade—
I felt as a lonely stranger,
That is kept in the cold and shade.
With a heart whose fires burnt low,
Looked on at the happy story,
That was mine in the long ago.
And I who had passed through danger,
Who knew that the flowers would fade—
I felt as a lonely stranger,
That is kept in the cold and shade.
Then I hailed a boat, that was trying
Its sails in the gentle wind;
For I felt that the time was flying,
And I should be left behind.
For I saw there was room for others,
And the maidens smiled at me;
And the men they were like my brothers,
In the hours that used to be.
Its sails in the gentle wind;
For I felt that the time was flying,
And I should be left behind.
For I saw there was room for others,
And the maidens smiled at me;
And the men they were like my brothers,
In the hours that used to be.
And I begged—and not as a scorner,
But more as a grateful guest—
It was only a little corner
That I begged, in which to rest.
But they answered that time was treasure,
And declared they could not stay;
That youth was the age for pleasure,
And I—I had had my day.
But more as a grateful guest—
It was only a little corner
That I begged, in which to rest.
But they answered that time was treasure,
And declared they could not stay;
That youth was the age for pleasure,
And I—I had had my day.
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In vain did I seek my fortune,
In vain did I show my need,
In vain did I still importune,
For never a boat took heed.
They said I was old and a burden,
And my chances all were gone,
But that they had now their guerdon—
And away they went sailing on.
In vain did I show my need,
In vain did I still importune,
For never a boat took heed.
They said I was old and a burden,
And my chances all were gone,
But that they had now their guerdon—
And away they went sailing on.
There were friends and beloved relations,
To whom I stretched my hands;
But they gave no salutations,
And they mocked at my demands.
Yet they seemed so full of kindness,
And so radiant and so free,
That I thought it must be blindness,
Which had turned their hearts from me.
To whom I stretched my hands;
But they gave no salutations,
And they mocked at my demands.
Yet they seemed so full of kindness,
And so radiant and so free,
That I thought it must be blindness,
Which had turned their hearts from me.
And still did I cry and dally,
And still did the boats go by;
In vain did my courage rally,
When it quickened but to die.
The morn grew brave with its glory,
And the birds they were wild at play;
But they all told the same sad story,
And said I had had my day.
And still did the boats go by;
In vain did my courage rally,
When it quickened but to die.
The morn grew brave with its glory,
And the birds they were wild at play;
But they all told the same sad story,
And said I had had my day.
Then—though it's a sore confession—
I beheld my children last;
They mixed with the gay procession,
And they likewise floated past.
I called—but they never hearkened,
I wept—and they did not mind—
I prayed—till my hopes were darkened,
And I still was left behind.
I beheld my children last;
They mixed with the gay procession,
And they likewise floated past.
I called—but they never hearkened,
I wept—and they did not mind—
I prayed—till my hopes were darkened,
And I still was left behind.
I had toiled for them from the morning,
I had toiled for them till the eve;
They were clothed with my own adorning,
They had nought they did not receive.
And I never spared my drudging,
Though it cost me years of pain;
It was lavished without grudging,
If my children found it gain.
I had toiled for them till the eve;
They were clothed with my own adorning,
They had nought they did not receive.
And I never spared my drudging,
Though it cost me years of pain;
It was lavished without grudging,
If my children found it gain.
I was used to man's aspersion,
I expected nothing sweet;
And my oldest friends' desertion,
I had often risen to meet.
But it wrung my heart like dying,
And it killed my human love;
When I saw my darlings flying,
And the bliss for which I strove.
I expected nothing sweet;
And my oldest friends' desertion,
I had often risen to meet.
But it wrung my heart like dying,
And it killed my human love;
When I saw my darlings flying,
And the bliss for which I strove.
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I had borne them on my bosom,
And had fed them with my life;
I had given them fruit and blossom,
And had fenced them round from strife.
But they dropt me in the distance,
When my life was sere and sad;
Though they owed me even existence,
And whatever joys they had.
And had fed them with my life;
I had given them fruit and blossom,
And had fenced them round from strife.
But they dropt me in the distance,
When my life was sere and sad;
Though they owed me even existence,
And whatever joys they had.
And there were they idly drifting,
Into perils dark and strange;
With companions always shifting,
While their parents could not change.
But they answered me with laughter,
When I begged them just to stay,
And it echoed sadly after
That I—I had had my day.
Into perils dark and strange;
With companions always shifting,
While their parents could not change.
But they answered me with laughter,
When I begged them just to stay,
And it echoed sadly after
That I—I had had my day.
When the beast that knew my manger,
Were it only kept a week,
Would have felt I was no stranger,
Had it simply heard me speak.
But these, that were parts so vital
Of my very flesh and bone,
They thought it no base requital,
That I should be left alone.
Were it only kept a week,
Would have felt I was no stranger,
Had it simply heard me speak.
But these, that were parts so vital
Of my very flesh and bone,
They thought it no base requital,
That I should be left alone.
Then I saw, as in a vision,
Though it came not at my call,
The meaning of this derision,
And the great end of all:—
That a man must build for others,
And must ask no sort of price;
That the burdens are our brothers,
And all life is sacrifice.
Though it came not at my call,
The meaning of this derision,
And the great end of all:—
That a man must build for others,
And must ask no sort of price;
That the burdens are our brothers,
And all life is sacrifice.
I saw it was education,
That the poor should always give;
And that death and separation,
Are the law by which we live:
That neither the hall nor hovel,
Can a grateful memory save;
And the child is but the shovel,
That will dig the parents' grave.
That the poor should always give;
And that death and separation,
Are the law by which we live:
That neither the hall nor hovel,
Can a grateful memory save;
And the child is but the shovel,
That will dig the parents' grave.
But with old affection's embers,
Still I feel the spirit strive;
And the past that love remembers,
It will somehow yet survive.
And if all my darlings perish,
And if nothing else should last,
Yet a treasure I can cherish—
Is the perfume of the Past.
Still I feel the spirit strive;
And the past that love remembers,
It will somehow yet survive.
And if all my darlings perish,
And if nothing else should last,
Yet a treasure I can cherish—
Is the perfume of the Past.
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And when I awcke from dreaming,
Lo, the birds were babbling still;
And the day with a broader gleaming,
Had broken on vale and hill.
And the waters were leaping lightly,
While the early mists had gone;
And the boats that danced so brightly,
They went sailing, sailing on.
Lo, the birds were babbling still;
And the day with a broader gleaming,
Had broken on vale and hill.
And the waters were leaping lightly,
While the early mists had gone;
And the boats that danced so brightly,
They went sailing, sailing on.
And still I stand by the River,
As it hurries to the Sea;
But though it will flow for ever,
It will flow no more for me.
For I know my day is over,
And my stream of life run dry;
But it passed through the fields of clover,
And their scent will never die.
As it hurries to the Sea;
But though it will flow for ever,
It will flow no more for me.
For I know my day is over,
And my stream of life run dry;
But it passed through the fields of clover,
And their scent will never die.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |