Stories that might be true :: :: University of Virginia Library

We were but children when our parents came
From England o'er the broad Atlantic's foam,
And unto us all countries were the same,
And where they smiled upon us, there was home!

The World was unto us a play-ground wide,
Where fresh and sparkling lay the morning dew;
T'were sweet to range among its paths untried,
When they that loved us wandered with us too;

All there was new, and beautiful, and strange,—
We thought; and lightly on our feelings lay
The grief of parting, or the sense of change,
From scenes where we had sojourn'd but a day.

But she, our elder sister, keenly felt
Things that our childish spirits bore unmoved;
And mourned the Home where she had longer dwelt,
The friends that she had longer, dearer loved:

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And like the plant of which old legends tell,
Around the mother-soil she called her own
The fibres of her heart had twined so well,
They might not quit their hold without a groan.

Yet what she suffer'd then she strove to hide;
And when we left our home, she did not speak,
But turn'd so pale, it seem'd the Rose that died
Knew it would bloom no more upon her cheek:

And on the scenes that we must leave behind
She turn'd the fix'd and earnest gaze, that fain
Would grave for ever on the heart and mind
All that may never meet the eyes again.

Our parents sobb'd aloud: their hearts were stirr'd
As fast around us flock'd a well-known band,
To give the parting wish, the parting word,
To take the last kind pressure of the hand;

Old friends, old neighbours! in that hour we found
Those we had loved but little, with the rest
Gain a strange value,—ever linked and bound
Unto the heart with all it loved the best!

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Each shade of doubt and coldness, that perchance
Had gather'd mid our Being's daily strife,
Fell from the soul for ever with the glance
That looked Farewell, and knew it was for Life!

Our sister's young companions round her came;
She spoke not, wept not, till a sudden cry
Burst from her lips that vainly strove to frame
Their trembling utt'rance to the word “Good bye!”

Her thoughts had wandered, but the trance of pain,
It seemed the anguish of that moment broke;
And to their kisses and their tears, again
Her soul, with all its tenderness, awoke:

Her spirit in that pang had overpast
The bitterness of Death—it found relief;
And all the look that on her Friends she cast,
Was love, deep love, that left no place for grief;

She turned unto them—in her smile serene,
The shadow of the Past reflected lay:
“Oh! sometimes think how happy we have been;
Forget me not, dear Friends, when far away!“

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“Farewell, dear Ellen! we shall meet again,
And love you in a happier world than this!”—
She prest them to her heart, and raising then
Her eyes to Heaven, made softly answer “Yes!”

PART II.

Through the dark shadows from the pine-boughs cast,
Rich flitting sun-gleams streaked the forest road,
As in a summer's golden eve, at last,
Our way-worn steps drew near our new abode;

We saw before us a Savannah lie;
A calm lake glittered near, with trees girt round,
That stood like giants of a world gone by;
With smooth, unruffled depths of verdure crowned.

A silent picture, framed and set, it seemed,
Within the mighty woods, that folding, swept
In slumbrous masses round,—as they had dreamed
A vision of deep Quiet while they slept!

Young wearied birds were we that longed to fold
Our light elastic wings, and sink to rest;
As we had done in times that were of old,
Within the shelter of the household nest:

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And there it lay! dropt on us from the skies,
We thought, and like a happy island cast
Within that forest-sea: in glad surprise
We clapped our hands, and shouted, “Home at last!”

“Home?”—To our mother's quivering lip the word
Arose half consciously, as if her heart
Gave back the echo of the sounds she heard,
But in their gladness bore not any part:

She gazed around with looks that vainly sought
Some likeness with the scenes they loved the best;
And she too seemed, but with a sadder thought,
To long to fold her wings and be at rest!

A Stranger, in a land where all was strange,
She felt: our father's cheerful eyes were wet,
As then he whispered, “Wait till once the change
Is past, and Home it will be to us yet!”

And so it was: a cold and sadd'ning smile
The fairest scenes will wear, and all looks lone,
Until the busy mind hath wrought awhile,
And peopled them with Beings of its own;

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At first the very stillness of the place
Weighed on our spirits; yet as days passed o'er,
We saw at last the old, the real face,
Of Home look on us fairer than before.

Not that the living wall that fenced us round
Was charmed to shut out Care: the world was new
That lay without us; new, we quickly found,
The inner, anxious world of trouble too!

And yet a spell to soften and to soothe,
Wrought surely there with silent unseen power;
The love that makes life's roughest places smooth,—
The light that gilds its darkest, dreariest hour—

For Love was in our dwelling when of yore,
All other joys were there; yet oh! its light,
So pure, so stedfast, had not burned before
As now it did, when nothing else was bright.

The chain that bound our kindred hearts was drawn
Around them with a firmer, closer hold:
We knew the links that had the trial borne,
And stood the test, could only be of gold!

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Nay, then we knew it not; we only felt,
And did not reason, or take heed for aught;
As in the sunshine of the heart we dwelt,
Like the Field-Lilies,—far too blest for thought!

PART III.

Each dawn awoke to toil; yet, ere it past,
Would bring a strength to wrestle with the day,
And hold, in cheerful faith, its Angel fast,
To bid him bless us ere he winged his way.

All wrought together on the onward track,
And yet perchance the saddest spirit there,
The heart that turned with fondest lingering back,
Was first to cheat all others of their care;

And she, our sister, that in earlier days
Had leant on others; now, with gentle fold,
Like the wild plants among our woodland ways,
Would cling and twine as then, and yet uphold!

Her step, her hand, brought comfort, yet became
So still and quiet, that we only guessed
Sometimes that Ellen went, and Ellen came,
Because around us all was peace and rest;

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Her smile was ever on us; but the bright
Swift sunny sparkle from her glance had flown;
Or softened, till it seemed its gentle light
Beamed for us now in tenderness alone:

Her words and tones were cheerful, as of yore;
Yet was she changed at heart; and many a thing
That would have grieved or gladdened her before,
Seemed neither joy nor sadness now to bring.

She was not changed to us! and then it lay
Beyond the compass of our childish powers
To see that something from her life away
Had passed, and now she only lived in ours!

But even then had one among us found
A secret by the others all unguessed;
And unto me, perchance, through love that bound
And folded all my heart within her breast;

Or that, perchance, it soothed her to express
Her thoughts to one so guileless and unproved;
There might be comfort in the tenderness
That did not understand, and only loved!

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But oft to me her gentle spirit broke
The bands of silence that had round it grown,
And she would bear me with her as she spoke
Unto the world wherein she walked alone.

I was the youngest.—When unto the woods
We went at eve, beneath our sister's care,
To play, and wake their lonely solitudes
With echoes wilder than the wildest there;

And while the rest ran eager all about,
To search for wild wood-strawberries, or twine
With many a joyous call and merry shout,
Bright trailing garlands of the Indian vine;

While, fast and free, they rambled far and wide,
Upon a fallen trunk, with moss o'ergrown,
I used to sit for hours by Ellen's side,
Or on her knee, contented and alone;

Or on the lake, with golden lilies bright,
We loved sometimes to steer our little boat
Right in among their broad green leaves, and light
Rock there with them upon the wave afloat;

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And while the sunlight from the glowing west
Streamed on the lake, and touched each solemn tree
With light so calm, it seemed a World of Rest,
Wherein no beings lived and moved but we;

Then I would hold her by the hand, and say,
“No fairy stories, sister, now; but tell
To me of those that live so far away,
Where once we lived, and whom you love so well.”

And she would kiss me then, and softly smile,
As to her lips familiar names, and dear,
Rose like remembered music; she the while
As pleased to tell as I could be to hear.

Yet once she seemed to linger, as her tale
Recalled a name I oft had heard of yore;
And her voice faltered,—then her cheek grew pale,
And her lip quivered, and she spoke no more;

But as I looked up sudden in her face,
I felt upon my own a warm tear fall;
And saw, that to some distant time and place
Her thoughts had borne her, far from me—from all:

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And I was troubled through my childish heart;
And said, “Oh, sister! You that love them so,
Do you not love us too? You would not part
With us for them, and back to England go!”

She answered slow (as still upon the track
Of thought she mused), and kissed away my tear,
“Why should I wish, my darling, to go back,
When those I love the best are with me here?

“And yet not all,” she added, in a tone
So low, I made no answer. I could see,
Child as I was, she thought herself alone,
And spoke unto her heart, and not to me!

PART IV.

So time wore on and with us all went well,
And oft our father looked around, and smiled
To see how things were changed, well pleased to tell
Of future conquests from the Forest-wild.

Once to our mother, as they watched the gold
Of the rich virgin-harvest waving fair,
“This country would be better than the old,”
He said, “were Ellen's smile what it was there.”

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And she awhile was silent, yet at length,
As with a hasty effort, answered then,
“It is the changeful autumn tries her strength,
She will be well when spring comes back again.”

“It is the fading, changing leaves that make
The air so heavy in their lingering fall.”
Oh! would, I thought, some sudden wind would shake
Them down at once, if this indeed were all!

For not the leaves that made a path of gold
For all our forest walks, upon the bough
Hung loosened from the yellow stalk with hold
More slight, than unto life seemed Ellen's now:

And all her fading cheek was flushed with light
Most like the changing Maple's crimsoned hue,
And now her soft eye glittered large and bright,
And clear as if her very soul looked through,

To send from thence a message, overfraught
With all that such fond farewell looks express
Of Love, that knowing that its time is short,
Would crowd therein a life of tenderness!

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I saw her change, and yet the thought to part
With one so dear upon me never fell,
I stored in childlike faith within my heart
The words “When Spring comes back she will be well.”

It was the Indian summer then, whose smile
Steals on the earth, a gentle after-thought,
As if the Spirit of Decay awhile
Would brood above the splendours it has wrought:

We walked at eve; the air was soft as spring
And all the woods around transfigured lay
In light and glory, as some angel's wing
Had touched them, passing swift upon his way;

And Ellen said, as on her cheek the air
Blew mild, “This is the Spring's own sweetness;” then
I answered, “Oh, dear sister, would it were!
For when Spring comes you will be well again.”

She looked at me awhile, then answered slow
“When Spring comes back, my dearest, who can tell
How it may be? but this indeed we know,
That all is as God wills, and that is well.”

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I fixed my eyes upon her silently,
And then a flash of light upon me broke,
And Death was in my soul; a sudden sea
Of bitterness o'erswept it, as she spoke,

And strove to comfort me, for well she knew
My grief was great; and in the unshed tears
Of that one moment, Love and Anguish threw
Upon my heart the weight of many years;

And, like a mist upon my spirit, then
A heavy sense of cold and darkness fell;
I heard her whisper, “We shall meet again,
When none are parted, none are loved too well.”

As if I feared to lose her then, I clung
More closely to her side, and all the way
Upon my lips I framed one word that hung
Unspoken, with my soul upon it, “Stay.”

So we walked on in silence, till we came
Unto our home, that never slept more fair
In evening light: “Yes! it will look the same,”
I thought, “when Ellen is no longer there;”

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And as we reached the house I grew more sad,
As then the sound of laughter on us fell;
And as we entered, every face was glad,
As with some secret that they might not tell

Except in smiles. “You have been long away,”
Our mother said: “A stranger has been here,
With news from home.” A sudden voice said, “Nay,
No stranger! Call him by some name more dear!”

And there among us, hid from view before,
A Youth sprung forth, whose kindling brow and cheek
Were flushed and radiant with a greeting, more
Than look, or smile, or word, could ever speak:

But Ellen dared not trust her joy; o'erwrought,
Bewildered, half-believing, she did seem
Like one who wakens to a blissful thought,
So sweet, that even then he fears to dream.

Our father spoke: “Come, Ellen, here is one
Who seeks a home, and needs a welcome kind,
Because he found his own, when we were gone,
So strange and dull, he could not stay behind.”

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The gentle light came back to Ellen's eyes,
And to her cheek. “And is it even thus?”
She said; “and have you left all other ties—
And have you, William, given up all for us?”

And he made answer softly, “Yes, for you!”
And whispered, as he held her by the hand,
Some words whose sound it seemed to me I knew,
But could not then their import understand,

Of One in hopes a goodly gem to find,
That cast all else away for that alone;
Nor e'er would turn a lingering look behind,
If he might call that priceless Pearl his own!

And Ellen spoke not for a while; then flung
Her arms about our mother's neck, and fast
Her sweet tears fell, as fondly there she clung,
And sobbed, “O mother, this is Home at last!”