 | Poems |  |
71
SKETCHES FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO.
A TALE OF TO-DAY.
A broad stream, smooth with deep-grassed fields,
Through rushy turnings winding slow;
A dam where stirless waters sleep
Till shot on the mossed wheel below
A dusty mill, whose shadows fall
On the stayed waters, white o'er all.
Through rushy turnings winding slow;
A dam where stirless waters sleep
Till shot on the mossed wheel below
A dusty mill, whose shadows fall
On the stayed waters, white o'er all.
A vine-climbed cottage, redly-tiled,
Deep-nooked within an orchard's green,
Past which a white road winds away,
That hedgerow elms from summer screen;
A busy wheel's near sound that tells,
Within, the thriving miller dwells.
Deep-nooked within an orchard's green,
Past which a white road winds away,
That hedgerow elms from summer screen;
A busy wheel's near sound that tells,
Within, the thriving miller dwells.
A cottage parlour, neatly gay,
With little comforts brightened round,
Where simple ornaments, that speak
Of more than country taste, abound,
Where bookcase and piano well
Of more than village polish tell.
With little comforts brightened round,
Where simple ornaments, that speak
Of more than country taste, abound,
Where bookcase and piano well
Of more than village polish tell.
A bluff blunt miller, well to do,
Of broad loud laugh—not hard to please;
A kindly housewife, keen and sage—
And busy as her very bees;
A bright-eyed daughter—mirth and health,
Their pride—their wealth above all wealth.
Of broad loud laugh—not hard to please;
A kindly housewife, keen and sage—
And busy as her very bees;
A bright-eyed daughter—mirth and health,
Their pride—their wealth above all wealth.
A tripping, fair, light-hearted girl,
Not yet the ripened woman quite,
Whose cheerful mirth and thoughtful love
Light up the cottage with delight,
And with a thousand gentle ways
With pleasure brim her parents' days.
Not yet the ripened woman quite,
Whose cheerful mirth and thoughtful love
Light up the cottage with delight,
And with a thousand gentle ways
With pleasure brim her parents' days.
A titled slip of lordly blood,
A few weeks' lounger at the Hall,
To gain new zest for palled delights
And squandered waste of health recal;
An angler in the milldam's water;
A chatter with the miller's daughter.
A few weeks' lounger at the Hall,
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And squandered waste of health recal;
An angler in the milldam's water;
A chatter with the miller's daughter.
A meeting 'neath a summer's night;
Soft smiles—low words—impassioned sighs;
The trembling clasp of meeting hands;
The hot gaze met with downcast eyes;
Foul perjuries that pollute the air,
With burning hopes and doubts heard there.
Soft smiles—low words—impassioned sighs;
The trembling clasp of meeting hands;
The hot gaze met with downcast eyes;
Foul perjuries that pollute the air,
With burning hopes and doubts heard there.
A thin pale face, where Autumn sees
No more the smiles that lit the Spring;
A foot less light upon the stair;
A low voice heard no more to sing;
One now that lost to all things sits,
Now starts to over-mirth by fits.
No more the smiles that lit the Spring;
A foot less light upon the stair;
A low voice heard no more to sing;
One now that lost to all things sits,
Now starts to over-mirth by fits.
Dear tongues that ask a gasping girl
Of what to utter were to kill;
Looks that she feels upon her fixed;
Eyes that with tears pursue her still;
Care in the old accustomed place
Of mirth, upon her father's face.
Of what to utter were to kill;
Looks that she feels upon her fixed;
Eyes that with tears pursue her still;
Care in the old accustomed place
Of mirth, upon her father's face.
A dark small whitely-curtained room;
A form flung on the unopened bed;
Quick sobs that quiver through the gloom;
Tears rained from hot eyes swoln and red,
And words that through their wild despair
Still strive to shape themselves to prayer.
A form flung on the unopened bed;
Quick sobs that quiver through the gloom;
Tears rained from hot eyes swoln and red,
And words that through their wild despair
Still strive to shape themselves to prayer.
A winter midnight's starry gloom;
A pausing tread so light that steals
Across the landing—down the stairs,
That scarce a creak a step reveals;
A stifled sob—a bolt undrawn;
A form—low words—a daughter gone.
A pausing tread so light that steals
Across the landing—down the stairs,
That scarce a creak a step reveals;
A stifled sob—a bolt undrawn;
A form—low words—a daughter gone.
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A fresh-turfed narrow hoop-bound grave,
Heaping a country churchyard's green,
On whose white headstone, newly carved,
The mill's old master's name is seen,
The wayside mill's, that bears no more
The well-known name so long it bore.
Heaping a country churchyard's green,
On whose white headstone, newly carved,
The mill's old master's name is seen,
The wayside mill's, that bears no more
The well-known name so long it bore.
A stooping woman scarcely old,
Yet with the feeble walk of age,
The dull faint sense of whose blank mind
No thing around her can engage,
Yet who, when into speech beguiled,
Will mutter of some absent child.
Yet with the feeble walk of age,
The dull faint sense of whose blank mind
No thing around her can engage,
Yet who, when into speech beguiled,
Will mutter of some absent child.
A costly-furnished west-end room,
Whose mirrors—pictures—all things show
A stintless and abounding wealth,
An easeful luxury few can know;
A flaunting thing its glare within;
A thing of shame, remorse and sin.
Whose mirrors—pictures—all things show
A stintless and abounding wealth,
An easeful luxury few can know;
A flaunting thing its glare within;
A thing of shame, remorse and sin.
A noise of quarrel; keen reproach,
Fronted with taunt, loud oath and curse,
Heaped out with such vile store of scorn
That hate in vain might seek for worse;
Meek pleadings, stricken to a close
With, shame to manhood! brutal blows.
Fronted with taunt, loud oath and curse,
Heaped out with such vile store of scorn
That hate in vain might seek for worse;
Meek pleadings, stricken to a close
With, shame to manhood! brutal blows.
A thing that once was woman; white,
Thin—haggard—hollow-eyed and wan;
A horror that the shuddering eye
Starts back aghast from resting on,
Whose only joy now left is drink,
Whose fire burns out the power to think.
Thin—haggard—hollow-eyed and wan;
A horror that the shuddering eye
Starts back aghast from resting on,
Whose only joy now left is drink,
Whose fire burns out the power to think.
A bridge all Winter keen with gusts,
On whose cold pathways lies the night;
Stony and desolate and dark,
Save round the gas-lamps' flickering light,
And swept by drifts of icy sleet
That numb each houseless wretch they meet.
On whose cold pathways lies the night;
Stony and desolate and dark,
Save round the gas-lamps' flickering light,
And swept by drifts of icy sleet
That numb each houseless wretch they meet.
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A wintry river broad and black
That through dark arches slides along,
Ringed where the gaslights on it play
With coiling eddies swirling strong,
That far below the dizzy height
Of the dark bridge swim through the night.
That through dark arches slides along,
Ringed where the gaslights on it play
With coiling eddies swirling strong,
That far below the dizzy height
Of the dark bridge swim through the night.
A crouching form that through the gloom
Paces its stones a hundred times,
That pausing—glancing keenly round,
The dark high balustrade up-climbs;
A plunge—a shriek. From all its woes
A weary soul hath calm repose.
Paces its stones a hundred times,
That pausing—glancing keenly round,
The dark high balustrade up-climbs;
A plunge—a shriek. From all its woes
A weary soul hath calm repose.
A long bright suite of stately rooms,
Where to soft music's changeful swell
Keeps time the beat of falling feet,
And all things but of pleasure tell,
Where, partner gay of noblest hands,
The suicide's seducer stands.
Where to soft music's changeful swell
Keeps time the beat of falling feet,
And all things but of pleasure tell,
Where, partner gay of noblest hands,
The suicide's seducer stands.
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