 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
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GABRIELLE.
IN ILLUSTRATION OF AN ENGRAVING.
You can see it on her saddened lip,
And in her serious glance;
She is thinking of her own dear home,
Afar in pleasant France:
And she looks as if the tears
Were this moment going to rise,
From her little heaving heart,
To her black and brilliant eyes.
She's a pretty creature—isn't she?
I know her very well;
She'll be seven years old to-morrow,
And her name is Gabrielle.
And in her serious glance;
She is thinking of her own dear home,
Afar in pleasant France:
And she looks as if the tears
Were this moment going to rise,
From her little heaving heart,
To her black and brilliant eyes.
She's a pretty creature—isn't she?
I know her very well;
She'll be seven years old to-morrow,
And her name is Gabrielle.
Shall I tell you all about her?
Such a charming little girl!
Her spirit is as soft, and light,
And careless as her curl:
Her curls! you cannot see them now,
They're tucked beneath that frill;
But sometimes o'er her baby brow
She lets them wave at will.
She is far away from home,
Yet her soul is full of love,
And the stranger's heart receives her
As it would a wandering dove.
And many a cold and careless lip
Has caught, as by a spell,
A smile and tone of tenderness,
From gentle Gabrielle.
Such a charming little girl!
Her spirit is as soft, and light,
And careless as her curl:
Her curls! you cannot see them now,
They're tucked beneath that frill;
But sometimes o'er her baby brow
She lets them wave at will.
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Yet her soul is full of love,
And the stranger's heart receives her
As it would a wandering dove.
And many a cold and careless lip
Has caught, as by a spell,
A smile and tone of tenderness,
From gentle Gabrielle.
And thus, though she is sorrowing now,
She is not often so,
For the very power of “loving much”
Is happiness, you know.
And in each living thing she sees,
In every bird and flower,
The simple, earnest, guileless child
Can find a pleasing power.
Then, if at times unbidden,
The bright warm tears will start,
When the shadow of her distant home
Goes o'er her happy heart,
They glisten on her glowing cheek
As beautiful and brief,
As drops of sunny morning dew
Upon a rose's leaf:
And in a moment more, a smile
Is dimpling where they fell,
So happy and so good is she,
The stranger, Gabrielle.
She is not often so,
For the very power of “loving much”
Is happiness, you know.
And in each living thing she sees,
In every bird and flower,
The simple, earnest, guileless child
Can find a pleasing power.
Then, if at times unbidden,
The bright warm tears will start,
When the shadow of her distant home
Goes o'er her happy heart,
They glisten on her glowing cheek
As beautiful and brief,
As drops of sunny morning dew
Upon a rose's leaf:
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Is dimpling where they fell,
So happy and so good is she,
The stranger, Gabrielle.
She's a very pleasant playmate,
Should you like such an one?
You cannot think how fond she is
Of frolic and of fun!
She dances like a fairy,
She warbles like a bird,
Her laugh has more of melody
Than any I have heard.
Ah! when she blooms in womanhood
I'm sure she'll be a belle;
With those rich lips and dazzling eyes,
Bewitching Gabrielle!
Should you like such an one?
You cannot think how fond she is
Of frolic and of fun!
She dances like a fairy,
She warbles like a bird,
Her laugh has more of melody
Than any I have heard.
Ah! when she blooms in womanhood
I'm sure she'll be a belle;
With those rich lips and dazzling eyes,
Bewitching Gabrielle!
If ever you should chance to meet
A loving little girl,
With a cap, like this one, lightly tied
O'er many a silken curl;
With a mouth of earnest sweetness,
And a softly rounded cheek,
And eyes that richly eloquent
A sunbright spirit speak;—
If she look just like this picture,
And be sure you mark it well,
For 'tis the very image
Of the graceful Gabrielle;—
A loving little girl,
With a cap, like this one, lightly tied
O'er many a silken curl;
With a mouth of earnest sweetness,
And a softly rounded cheek,
And eyes that richly eloquent
A sunbright spirit speak;—
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And be sure you mark it well,
For 'tis the very image
Of the graceful Gabrielle;—
If, like some wild flower smiling
On every passer by,
With many a pretty wile, she watch
To win your youthful eye:
Then take her by her little hand,
And say you love her well;
And should she whisper, “Je vous aime,”
You'll know 'tis Gabrielle.
On every passer by,
With many a pretty wile, she watch
To win your youthful eye:
Then take her by her little hand,
And say you love her well;
And should she whisper, “Je vous aime,”
You'll know 'tis Gabrielle.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |