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 |  |
38
And evermore our way
Is strown with flowers
Is strown with flowers
And the song died away
Amid the echoing showers
Of buds and blossoms children-strown
Over their homeward path. The glance
Of the old stranger rested upon one
Of the flower-children, in advance
Of her companions. She appear'd
Like his own child: and yet he fear'd—
So awful was her loveliness—
To speak unto her; so he stood
Gazing, bewilder'd, in a mood
Of mingled joy and thoughtfulness,
Looking his question;—till she told
How, in the dreariness of old,—
In the world's twilight dim and cold,—
An aged man, her ancestor,
Had fled out of the daily burr
Of dismalest captivity
In Godstone Poorhouse, to the free
Unpathed wilds, wherein 'twas thought
He perish'd, for none gleaned aught
Of his after life:—
And this was he
Who stood before them, wonder-clad,
Their few-hours' visitant. Then had
Full greetings to be poured forth
To pledge the stranger, words of worth,
Heart-words: so went they home. And he
Goes homeward too, how happily!
Not, as of yore, with tiréd heart
And flagging spirit, and foot-sore;
But even as one loath to depart
Out of a pleasant day, whose lore
O' the better wisdom through the dim
Grey eventide will rest with him.
That twilight-clipped happiness
Hath better taught him than the stress
Of a life's penance-wretchedness.
So passeth he to happier hours;
Benigner influences and powers
Of good are round him, to upstay
His limbs and bear him on his way
Rejoicing to the garden bowers.
Amid the echoing showers
Of buds and blossoms children-strown
Over their homeward path. The glance
Of the old stranger rested upon one
Of the flower-children, in advance
Of her companions. She appear'd
Like his own child: and yet he fear'd—
So awful was her loveliness—
To speak unto her; so he stood
Gazing, bewilder'd, in a mood
Of mingled joy and thoughtfulness,
Looking his question;—till she told
How, in the dreariness of old,—
In the world's twilight dim and cold,—
An aged man, her ancestor,
Had fled out of the daily burr
Of dismalest captivity
In Godstone Poorhouse, to the free
Unpathed wilds, wherein 'twas thought
He perish'd, for none gleaned aught
Of his after life:—
39
Who stood before them, wonder-clad,
Their few-hours' visitant. Then had
Full greetings to be poured forth
To pledge the stranger, words of worth,
Heart-words: so went they home. And he
Goes homeward too, how happily!
Not, as of yore, with tiréd heart
And flagging spirit, and foot-sore;
But even as one loath to depart
Out of a pleasant day, whose lore
O' the better wisdom through the dim
Grey eventide will rest with him.
That twilight-clipped happiness
Hath better taught him than the stress
Of a life's penance-wretchedness.
So passeth he to happier hours;
Benigner influences and powers
Of good are round him, to upstay
His limbs and bear him on his way
Rejoicing to the garden bowers.
And for the “Pauper's” memory—
Let it be gently borne till we
Sleep with him, and as peacefully.
Let it be gently borne till we
Sleep with him, and as peacefully.
| Bob-Thin | |