 | The ghost's entry and other poems |  |
109
THE MINER'S BETROTHAL
I
The miner kissed his maiden bride. ‘Upon St. Lucia's Day,
Their blessing on our lives, fast-bound, the priestly palms shall lay;
Then we will build our summer nest in sunny trees together,
Where Peace and Love, like mated birds, shall make their happy weather.’
Their blessing on our lives, fast-bound, the priestly palms shall lay;
Then we will build our summer nest in sunny trees together,
Where Peace and Love, like mated birds, shall make their happy weather.’
110
Yesterday came the Sabbath, when,—oh, brightly everywhere!—
The Earth was wreathed divinely with the heavenly halo-air;
And in the village-chapel, for the second time proclaimed,
The holy banns were spoken, and the wedding-day was named.
The Earth was wreathed divinely with the heavenly halo-air;
And in the village-chapel, for the second time proclaimed,
The holy banns were spoken, and the wedding-day was named.
‘Good-morning,’ at her window now he greets her, going by
Down to the midnight mine all day—her smile 's her bright reply:
‘Good-morning,’ in his heart it beats, while light of foot and fast
From her sweet sight he vanished ... far away into the Past!
Down to the midnight mine all day—her smile 's her bright reply:
‘Good-morning,’ in his heart it beats, while light of foot and fast
From her sweet sight he vanished ... far away into the Past!
111
II
Glad-hearted plays her needle, and her work is made of song;
Fancies, at loving work for Love, lighten slow Time along.
Slowly the morning dies, and slow the evening hours depart,
And in her cheek the roses climb—their fragrance fills her heart.
Fancies, at loving work for Love, lighten slow Time along.
Slowly the morning dies, and slow the evening hours depart,
And in her cheek the roses climb—their fragrance fills her heart.
III
Fifty long years of happy Junes and dreary, cold Decembers!
Fifty long years of smiles and tears—bright firesides, dying embers!
Fifty long years, on what strange shores have crawled their broken waves!—
How far away their echoes dead drop down in Memory's caves!
Fifty long years of smiles and tears—bright firesides, dying embers!
Fifty long years, on what strange shores have crawled their broken waves!—
How far away their echoes dead drop down in Memory's caves!
112
Old crowns from dust gleam, buried, and old sceptres are forgot;
Old prisons, earthquake-shaken low—their woes remembered not;
Grey, giant slumberers have awaked with blindness in their eyes;
The West has rounded toward the East more manly destinies.
Old prisons, earthquake-shaken low—their woes remembered not;
Grey, giant slumberers have awaked with blindness in their eyes;
The West has rounded toward the East more manly destinies.
IV
Some miners toil within a mine, one morning bright and fair,
In olden excavations deep below that morning air;
When lo! a dreamer lying there asleep in youth divine;—
And with his dream about him, now they bring him from the mine!
In olden excavations deep below that morning air;
When lo! a dreamer lying there asleep in youth divine;—
And with his dream about him, now they bring him from the mine!
113
No one remembers, seeing him. None knows him. Who is he?—
Lying in his long trance alone, a man of mystery?
Full of the love-dream long ago, he seems a dreamer now:
Yesterday's kiss is in his heart, this morning's on his brow!
Lying in his long trance alone, a man of mystery?
Full of the love-dream long ago, he seems a dreamer now:
Yesterday's kiss is in his heart, this morning's on his brow!
They are all gone, they are all gone, the close familiar faces;
Old footsteps falter far away, old echoes lose their places;
No father, no mother, no brother steals among that crowd to see
And find his lost face in their hearts, a buried memory.
Old footsteps falter far away, old echoes lose their places;
No father, no mother, no brother steals among that crowd to see
And find his lost face in their hearts, a buried memory.
114
But who is she that comes, her hands long weary with their part? ...
From the old coffin of her love he wakens in her heart!
Love, only sleeping there like him, leaps up as quick and young,
As when the dews of the far days to Maying roses clung.
From the old coffin of her love he wakens in her heart!
Love, only sleeping there like him, leaps up as quick and young,
As when the dews of the far days to Maying roses clung.
Her eyes unblinded by the years of patient-waiting pain,
She claims him for her own, long-lost; she clasps him back again:
To a true heart she clasps him back; her wrinkled features trace
Life's paths of sorrow fifty years—Death has not seen his face!
She claims him for her own, long-lost; she clasps him back again:
To a true heart she clasps him back; her wrinkled features trace
Life's paths of sorrow fifty years—Death has not seen his face!
115
‘Good-morning,’ long ago he said; he comes to say ‘Good-even.’
Love that has lived so long on earth has moulted wings for heaven.
A few more days, the appointed time, the blessing One shall say;
She knows her fixed betrothal, and she waits the wedding-day.
Love that has lived so long on earth has moulted wings for heaven.
A few more days, the appointed time, the blessing One shall say;
She knows her fixed betrothal, and she waits the wedding-day.
The story is told of a young miner, somewhere in the North of Europe, whose body was found, fifty years after his death by the falling-in of a mine, preserved life-like by some chemical property in the earth, and was recognised only by the faithful woman, grown old and withered, to whom he had been betrothed.
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