Bob-Thin Or the poorhouse fugitive: By W. J. Linton: Illustrated by T. Sibson-- W. B. Scott-- E. Duncan-- W. J. Linton |
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 | Bob-Thin |  |
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The lovers, never more to be divided:
Two streaming lives that from the first have glided
Together-ward, two hearts into one fold.
The travellers have embark'd, and sail,
Smooth-water'd and with prosperous gale,
The purpose of the day to greet:
The old man with the weary feet
Resting among them. Sure is he
That angels are his company.
On, on, by golden-vestured trees,
Standing like thoughtful deities
Beholding their own images
In the clear current; by gay meads,
And towering fertilities,
And gorgeous growths sprung from the seeds
Of the unforgotten Paradise;
Above the dreamy world that lies
In the river-depth,—of giant forest,
Tangled dells and caves umbrageous,
Labyrinths such as thou explorest
With deep eye and thought courageous,
When the mystic veil is riven
Of the Spirit (such a world
Seemeth in the waters furl'd):
Through and over these they sail
With smooth course; the gentle gale
Echoing the dying fall
Of the wavelets lyrical;
The clear brow of blue-eyed heaven
Smilingly o'erarching all.
A glorious company are they
Voyaging on the waters there,
With hearts as warm and thoughts as gay
And outward-brilliant as the day;
And the old “Pauper” hath his share
Of pleasantness, and, joy-beguiled,
New-hearted as a little child,
No longer sleepeth with despair,
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The current fighting with the breeze,
Till, kindling in the noontide rays,
The river seemeth one wide blaze
Of emerald and diamond,
Or as the river-god had donn'd
A panoply of steel; and splashing
Through green boughs the sun-looks glare,
Like the eyes of wood-nymphs, flashing
Through their shade of leafy hair;
And, as over human fate
Joy and sorrow alternate,
Sunny sheen and cloudy shadow
Pass o'er stream and banking meadow:
The strong earth-heart underneath
Thankfully continueth.
And now the grey-man's wistful eyes
Many on old scene recognise
In the windings of the river;
Making his worn lips to quiver
With emotion violent.
But the buried time mis-spent
May not vex his memory.
Look not back on misery
Lagging far behind!—The noon
Folds the sun in fierce embrace,
Like two lovers, face to face,
Mingling in a passion-swoon.
And the travellers leap ashore;
And toward the Place of Games
Bear their upward course, with store
Of hopeful strength that never lames;
Nor pause on the hill-top to ponder
On the wide, untrack'd river, yonder
Calmly sloping to the sea,
Like age toward eternity:—
The lark in the sky sings merrily:—
But to the bosom of the valley
Whither their long voyage tended
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Now by many groups that rally
Tow'rd one purpose, till the road
Is gladden'd with a mighty crowd.
Beautiful the village show'd,
In the forest heart embower'd;
Every cottage over-flower'd,
Every cottage link'd by flowers
To its neighbour; every dwelling—
With its garden plot, for use,
Or for pomp voluptuous—
| Bob-Thin | |