 | Miami Woods : a golden wedding and other poems |  |
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Mabelle Golding.
Maple Golden,” the servants called her:
She was the wildest, merriest thing,
That ever rambled the woodlands over
To search for flowers in the early Spring.
The March-rime, even, did not escape her;
And when the April violets came,
Her eyes were filled with the hues of heaven,
And her cheeks with roses were aflame.
She was the wildest, merriest thing,
That ever rambled the woodlands over
To search for flowers in the early Spring.
The March-rime, even, did not escape her;
And when the April violets came,
Her eyes were filled with the hues of heaven,
And her cheeks with roses were aflame.
Maple Golden 's come back, Missus!
It 's just three years since she went away.
No longer a girl, she is now a woman,
And her beautiful hair is streak'd with gray.
But she 's changed so, Missus! You'd hardly know her,
She looks so weary, and seems so sad—
She that was never down in spirits,
She that was always fresh and glad.
It 's just three years since she went away.
No longer a girl, she is now a woman,
And her beautiful hair is streak'd with gray.
But she 's changed so, Missus! You'd hardly know her,
She looks so weary, and seems so sad—
She that was never down in spirits,
She that was always fresh and glad.
The matter? I did n't hear 'bout the matter;
I saw her only a little while,
Just as she left the car at the Station;
And I should n't have known her but for her smile;
That is, at first I should n't have known her,
And did n't—but when I looked agen,
And saw her fondle and kiss the children,
I 'd a-known her among a thousand then!
I saw her only a little while,
Just as she left the car at the Station;
And I should n't have known her but for her smile;
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And did n't—but when I looked agen,
And saw her fondle and kiss the children,
I 'd a-known her among a thousand then!
“At first she stood like the marble statue
I saw at Muldoon's the other day;
Then the smile that all of us used to love so,
Across her features began to play;
And then, for just a moment, she buried
Her face in her hands, and press'd her eyes,—
(They are not the same, but the stars are in them,
As they used to be, and the blue of the skies,)—
I saw at Muldoon's the other day;
Then the smile that all of us used to love so,
Across her features began to play;
And then, for just a moment, she buried
Her face in her hands, and press'd her eyes,—
(They are not the same, but the stars are in them,
As they used to be, and the blue of the skies,)—
“And half-look'd into the group of children
That stood but a little way from her,
All of them wanting to rush up to her,
But each afraid to be first to stir;
And then she look'd them full in their faces,
And caught them up to her, one by one,
And kiss'd them and press'd them up to her bosom,
And named them—all but little Nun:
That stood but a little way from her,
All of them wanting to rush up to her,
But each afraid to be first to stir;
And then she look'd them full in their faces,
And caught them up to her, one by one,
And kiss'd them and press'd them up to her bosom,
And named them—all but little Nun:
“Nun, you know, has come among us
Since that terrible, awful day,
When, in the storm we all remember,
Maple Golden wandered away—
Wandered away, no one knew whither,
And only a few have ever guess'd why;
And none have become a whit the wiser,
In all the time that has since gone by.
Since that terrible, awful day,
When, in the storm we all remember,
Maple Golden wandered away—
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And only a few have ever guess'd why;
And none have become a whit the wiser,
In all the time that has since gone by.
“I know, Missus! and al'ys did know,
For I was where I could hear and see;
But I 've been good to Maple Golden,”
She sigh'd, “for Maple was good to me.
And I have kept my own good counsel,
And mean to keep it as long as I live:
Many have ask'd me to give them a hint just,
But I 've no hint that I'll ever give.”
For I was where I could hear and see;
But I 've been good to Maple Golden,”
She sigh'd, “for Maple was good to me.
And I have kept my own good counsel,
And mean to keep it as long as I live:
Many have ask'd me to give them a hint just,
But I 've no hint that I'll ever give.”
“Wont you tell me now, Phillis? me just?
Soon your secret'll all be out.
When and where and how did it happen?
What and with whom was it all about?”
“No—I'll never tell on Maple—
Maple'll never tell on me:
To such as I am it 's little difference—
It 's all, though,” she sighed, “to such as she!”
Soon your secret'll all be out.
When and where and how did it happen?
What and with whom was it all about?”
“No—I'll never tell on Maple—
Maple'll never tell on me:
To such as I am it 's little difference—
It 's all, though,” she sighed, “to such as she!”
“Please do n't ask me again, dear Missus.
Maple's wells of sorrow are dry;
I judge by her looks, and by her movements,
But more than all by her burning eye.
Yet were this not so, Maple should never
Have cause from me one word to fear.
I wish she could weep, but she shall not ever
For fault of mine shed a single tear.”
Maple's wells of sorrow are dry;
I judge by her looks, and by her movements,
But more than all by her burning eye.
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Have cause from me one word to fear.
I wish she could weep, but she shall not ever
For fault of mine shed a single tear.”
“Well, Phillis—when you left the Station,
What”—“Missus, here comes Massa John.
When I turn'd away from Maple Golden,
He stood near, looking sadly on.
May-be he can tell you something, Missus—
Something I miss'd cause I did n't stay.
Mass John! you saw poor Maple Golden,
And was looking on when I came away.”
What”—“Missus, here comes Massa John.
When I turn'd away from Maple Golden,
He stood near, looking sadly on.
May-be he can tell you something, Missus—
Something I miss'd cause I did n't stay.
Mass John! you saw poor Maple Golden,
And was looking on when I came away.”
“Well, John—I can't get much out of Phillis—
Has Maple, sure enough, come back?”
“Yes—the poor thing wandered hither, somehow,
But has gone again, on a darker track.
Things do happen so strangely, sometimes!
Her father had been for a week in town,
And return'd on the up-train half an hour
After she on the other train came down.
Has Maple, sure enough, come back?”
“Yes—the poor thing wandered hither, somehow,
But has gone again, on a darker track.
Things do happen so strangely, sometimes!
Her father had been for a week in town,
And return'd on the up-train half an hour
After she on the other train came down.
“I saw her standing and gazing wildly
At little Nun, till she spied a charm,
Which seem'd almost to electrify her,
By Nature fix'd on Nun's right arm.
At this she caught the child to her bosom,
And gave it many a sweet embrace,
Smoothing its hair with her trembling fingers,
And planting kisses all over its face.
At little Nun, till she spied a charm,
Which seem'd almost to electrify her,
By Nature fix'd on Nun's right arm.
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And gave it many a sweet embrace,
Smoothing its hair with her trembling fingers,
And planting kisses all over its face.
“The upward train then stopp'd at the Station,
Near where Mabelle stood with the child;
And her father stepp'd from the car to the platform,
And bow'd to a friend or two, and smiled;
When, all of a sudden, Mabelle toward him
With open arms and a wild look sprang,
And for an instant a shriek came from her,
With which the air all about us rang.
Near where Mabelle stood with the child;
And her father stepp'd from the car to the platform,
And bow'd to a friend or two, and smiled;
When, all of a sudden, Mabelle toward him
With open arms and a wild look sprang,
And for an instant a shriek came from her,
With which the air all about us rang.
“He caught her tenderly, and drew her
Beautiful form up to his own,
And kindly and lovingly address'd her,
But she answer'd with only a dying moan.
She was borne then gently into the Station,
And laid for a little while on a bed;
But ere I left”—“Oh God!” cried Phyllis,
“And is poor Maple Golden dead?”
Beautiful form up to his own,
And kindly and lovingly address'd her,
But she answer'd with only a dying moan.
She was borne then gently into the Station,
And laid for a little while on a bed;
But ere I left”—“Oh God!” cried Phyllis,
“And is poor Maple Golden dead?”
“Dead ere I left.” “Poor Maple Golden!”
Sobb'd Phillis; “I know her story well;
'T is a tale of guilt, and a tale of sorrow,
But a tale that Phillis can never tell.
Mass John”—“Ah, Phillis! I know that story,
And I know of one whose robes are white
As he moves on earth, but whose soul is blacker
Than the blackest shades of the darkest night.
Sobb'd Phillis; “I know her story well;
'T is a tale of guilt, and a tale of sorrow,
But a tale that Phillis can never tell.
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And I know of one whose robes are white
As he moves on earth, but whose soul is blacker
Than the blackest shades of the darkest night.
“'T is the old, old story, of woman's weakness,
And of the perfidy of man!—
Go, Phyllis, at once, to Mabelle's parents,
And offer to do whatever you can.
Say nothing of what you do or don't know;
Help lay that blighted flow'r in the earth;
And all who know of Mabelle's Temptation,
Will pray for her second and better birth.”
And of the perfidy of man!—
Go, Phyllis, at once, to Mabelle's parents,
And offer to do whatever you can.
Say nothing of what you do or don't know;
Help lay that blighted flow'r in the earth;
And all who know of Mabelle's Temptation,
Will pray for her second and better birth.”
| Miami Woods : a golden wedding and other poems | |