Duganne's Poetical Works Autograph edition. Seventy-five Copies |
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AN ALLEGORY FOR A LITTLE FRIEND, WHO WOULD KNOW THE MEANING OF “FAREWELL.” |
 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
AN ALLEGORY FOR A LITTLE FRIEND, WHO WOULD KNOW THE MEANING OF “FAREWELL.”
FLORIMEL was an artless, innocent child,
And loved all Nature. Every little bird
That chirrup'd in the wood, and every brook
That capered down the hill-side, she did love;
And often you might hear her carolling voice,
Waking the forest echoes with a song—
Flute-toned and musical, like her feather'd friends.
And loved all Nature. Every little bird
That chirrup'd in the wood, and every brook
That capered down the hill-side, she did love;
And often you might hear her carolling voice,
Waking the forest echoes with a song—
Flute-toned and musical, like her feather'd friends.
Well! 't was a summer's eve; and Florimel
(Chasing the butterflies) had wandered far,
And sunset fell around her. All at once,
She heard a fluttering, and, looking round,
Espied a beautiful bird, with golden neck,
And lovely violet eyes, and starry wings;
But he was prison'd in some fowler's net,
And could not rise—but, ever and anon,
His little wings would flap, and his breast heave;
And such a pitiful strain he did pour forth,
It grieved the little maiden's heart to hear.
(Chasing the butterflies) had wandered far,
And sunset fell around her. All at once,
She heard a fluttering, and, looking round,
Espied a beautiful bird, with golden neck,
And lovely violet eyes, and starry wings;
But he was prison'd in some fowler's net,
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His little wings would flap, and his breast heave;
And such a pitiful strain he did pour forth,
It grieved the little maiden's heart to hear.
Florimel ran to loose him, and the bird
Turned his soft eyes upon her, and was still;
For every living thing did love the maid,
She was so gentle.
Soon the net was loosed;
And with a joyous flapping of his wings,
The bird flew, singing, to a hawthorne-bush,
Close to the maiden's cheek, and rested there.
Florimel listened, and in wonder, too;
For he did call her name, and then, with voice
Sweet as the tinkling music of a stream,
He spoke, while tremblingly she gazed at him:
Turned his soft eyes upon her, and was still;
For every living thing did love the maid,
She was so gentle.
Soon the net was loosed;
And with a joyous flapping of his wings,
The bird flew, singing, to a hawthorne-bush,
Close to the maiden's cheek, and rested there.
Florimel listened, and in wonder, too;
For he did call her name, and then, with voice
Sweet as the tinkling music of a stream,
He spoke, while tremblingly she gazed at him:
Farewell!
Beautiful child, gentle and mild,
Farewell!
And when, sweet maiden, thou wouldst seek
To bless the friends thy heart doth love,
Be this the word that thou shalt speak,—
And turn thy seeking eyes above,—
“Farewell!”
Well SHALL they fare who hear thy prayer.
Farewell!
Beautiful child, gentle and mild,
Farewell!
And when, sweet maiden, thou wouldst seek
To bless the friends thy heart doth love,
Be this the word that thou shalt speak,—
And turn thy seeking eyes above,—
“Farewell!”
Well SHALL they fare who hear thy prayer.
Farewell!
Up, in the summer-sunset, flew the bird,
While Florimel gazed in tearful wonderment.
The maiden turned her to her cottage-home;
And, frisking in his gladness, came her lamb—
The dear pet-lamb—to meet her. Then she led
Her favorite, by his silken chain of blue,
Up to his little fold, and bade “Fare well!”
While Florimel gazed in tearful wonderment.
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And, frisking in his gladness, came her lamb—
The dear pet-lamb—to meet her. Then she led
Her favorite, by his silken chain of blue,
Up to his little fold, and bade “Fare well!”
But the young lambkin gazed into her face
With a mute love-look, then lay down and—died.
With a mute love-look, then lay down and—died.
Florimel's grief broke forth in passionate tears;
And, fleeing to her home, she told the tale
Of her young sorrow to her favorite friend,
A silver-throated humming-bird. “But thou!”
She cried, “THOU shalt, at least, fare well!”
And, fleeing to her home, she told the tale
Of her young sorrow to her favorite friend,
A silver-throated humming-bird. “But thou!”
She cried, “THOU shalt, at least, fare well!”
The birdling flapped its little wings, and breathed
His dying sigh. Then, sad and sorrowful,
Florimel knelt beside it, and looked up
Into the twilight-heaven. “Are they well?”
She murmured: “Then, too, farewell, Florimel!”
And, falling down with her mute favorite,
She sank to innocent death-sleep, while above,
The beautiful stranger-bird appeared in heaven,
And whispered, “All fare well!”
His dying sigh. Then, sad and sorrowful,
Florimel knelt beside it, and looked up
Into the twilight-heaven. “Are they well?”
She murmured: “Then, too, farewell, Florimel!”
And, falling down with her mute favorite,
She sank to innocent death-sleep, while above,
The beautiful stranger-bird appeared in heaven,
And whispered, “All fare well!”
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |