 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
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4.
As she upraised her pallid faceFrom that long, sweet, but sad embrace,
The candle in the socket fell,
Flickered a moment, and then died!
How dark it left her none can tell—
She had but one beside.
The peculiar difficulties and sufferings of the early Colonists cannot now be realized. It was not the lack of means but of merchandise. There was money, but no market—nearer than London; and the Atlantic could not then be crossed in ten days; it sometimes took as many months. We were told by an old lady of Boston, a lineal descendant of one of the early Governors, that her grandmother told her often she had but one pound of candles during six months. “And,” said the wise lady of the Governor, “I was never out of candles during the whole time.” Such was the true Yankee spirit—always remembering there will come a to-morrow.
She watched the slowly smouldering brands,
And closely clasped her quivering hands—
“I shall not be forsaken quite,”
She murmured—“God will give me light.”
The fire flashed up, even as she spoke,
The flash her little Sydney woke,
And as he lisped his mother's name,
What joyous rapture thrilled her frame!
And sweet as Spring her answer came.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |