 | The complete poetical writings of J. G. Holland |  |
VIII.
The chapel's chime fell slow and soft
And throngs slow-marching to its knoll
From village home and distant croft,
With careful feet and reverent soul
Pressed toward the open door, but oft
And throngs slow-marching to its knoll
From village home and distant croft,
With careful feet and reverent soul
Pressed toward the open door, but oft
Turned curious and expectant eyes
Upon the Manse that stood apart.
There in her quiet, bridal guise
Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;
While Philip, bold and over-wise,
Upon the Manse that stood apart.
There in her quiet, bridal guise
Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;
While Philip, bold and over-wise,
And knowing naught of woman's ways,
Smiled at her fears, and could not guess
How one so armored in his praise,
And strong in native loveliness,
Could dread to meet his people's gaze.
Smiled at her fears, and could not guess
How one so armored in his praise,
And strong in native loveliness,
Could dread to meet his people's gaze.
He could not know her fine alarm
When at his manly side she stood,
And, leaning faintly on his arm—
A dainty slip of womanhood—
Walked forth where every girlish charm
When at his manly side she stood,
And, leaning faintly on his arm—
A dainty slip of womanhood—
Walked forth where every girlish charm
349
Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,
Among the slowly moving crowd
That, greedy of the precious chance,
Read furtively, but half aloud,
The pages of their new romance.
Among the slowly moving crowd
That, greedy of the precious chance,
Read furtively, but half aloud,
The pages of their new romance.
“A child!” And Mildred caught the word.
“A plaything!” And another voice:
“Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!”
And still one more: “A parson's choice!”
And trembling Mildred overheard.
“A plaything!” And another voice:
“Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!”
And still one more: “A parson's choice!”
And trembling Mildred overheard.
These from the careless or the dull—
These from the gossips and the dolts—
And though her quickened ear might cull
From out their whispered thunderbolts
A “lovely!” and a “beautiful!”
These from the gossips and the dolts—
And though her quickened ear might cull
From out their whispered thunderbolts
A “lovely!” and a “beautiful!”
And though sweet mother-faces smiled,
And bows were given with friendly grace,
And many a pleasant little child
Sought sympathy within her face,
Her aching heart was not beguiled.
And bows were given with friendly grace,
And many a pleasant little child
Sought sympathy within her face,
Her aching heart was not beguiled.
She did not see—she only felt—
As up the staring aisle she walked—
The critic glances, coldly dealt
By those who looked, and bent, and talked:
And, even, when at last she knelt
As up the staring aisle she walked—
The critic glances, coldly dealt
By those who looked, and bent, and talked:
And, even, when at last she knelt
Alone within the pastor's pew,
And prayed for self-forgetfulness
With deep humility, she knew
She gave her figure and her dress
To careful eyes with closer view.
And prayed for self-forgetfulness
With deep humility, she knew
She gave her figure and her dress
To careful eyes with closer view.
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