 | Hagar |  |
A FARM IDYL
I. PART I.
The sun was going down, as I drove the cattle home;
They loitered by the brook, which was covered o'er with foam;
The heavy rains which fell, and blackened all the grain,
Had swollen wide the stream, and left it with a stain.
I had a heavy heart, my thoughts were far astray:
I saw the work of months quite ruined in a day.
I had hoped for Jenny's love, if all went well with me—
Sweet Jenny was not meant a poor man's wife to be:
Those dainty, slender hands were never meant for toil;
I'd work my finger-ends off, to keep her's free from soil.
Yet one thing I would know, that her love was all my own;
No Percy White should come, with his soft beguiling tone.
His lands are rich and broad; but is his heart right true?
Let Jenny trust him once, that trust she'll dearly rue
They loitered by the brook, which was covered o'er with foam;
The heavy rains which fell, and blackened all the grain,
Had swollen wide the stream, and left it with a stain.
I had a heavy heart, my thoughts were far astray:
I saw the work of months quite ruined in a day.
I had hoped for Jenny's love, if all went well with me—
Sweet Jenny was not meant a poor man's wife to be:
Those dainty, slender hands were never meant for toil;
I'd work my finger-ends off, to keep her's free from soil.
Yet one thing I would know, that her love was all my own;
No Percy White should come, with his soft beguiling tone.
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Let Jenny trust him once, that trust she'll dearly rue
The night was coming on, as I left the brook behind;
I forgot 'twas milking time—I was troubled in my mind:
The chores were all to do; it was dark up in the mows,
And the hay was all to pitch, and who would milk the cows?
“Our Lucy has gone home—she sadly needs a rest.
Of all the girls I've had, our Lucy is the best.”
'Twas thus my mother spoke, and ended with a smile,—
“You can do the milking, John, just for a little while.”
Now in the barn-door old, stood a dainty maiden fair,
With eyes of blue, so brave and true, and smoothly parted hair.
“Why Lucy, is that you?” I cried; “how came it you are here?
'Tis strange, where e'er your wanted, there you're sure to be.
I'm so belated, you're the one whom most I longed to see.”
“I could not 'bide at home,” she said, and raised her eyes of blue,
And met my own so steadily, “there was so much to do.”
With that she knelt at Bess's side, and sang a simple song,
That seemed to chime in with the streams, which tinkled fast and long.
I forgot 'twas milking time—I was troubled in my mind:
The chores were all to do; it was dark up in the mows,
And the hay was all to pitch, and who would milk the cows?
“Our Lucy has gone home—she sadly needs a rest.
Of all the girls I've had, our Lucy is the best.”
'Twas thus my mother spoke, and ended with a smile,—
“You can do the milking, John, just for a little while.”
Now in the barn-door old, stood a dainty maiden fair,
With eyes of blue, so brave and true, and smoothly parted hair.
“Why Lucy, is that you?” I cried; “how came it you are here?
'Tis strange, where e'er your wanted, there you're sure to be.
I'm so belated, you're the one whom most I longed to see.”
“I could not 'bide at home,” she said, and raised her eyes of blue,
And met my own so steadily, “there was so much to do.”
With that she knelt at Bess's side, and sang a simple song,
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I hung my head with shame, while I grieved o'er what might be,
And lingered by the way, my work was done for me;
The stables littered o'er, the hay piled on the floor.
Strange, how much a hand can do which is so very small!
I could cover with my own, the finger-tips and all.
But she works with heart and hand, and has a willing mind;
Such women in this world are very hard to find.
And lingered by the way, my work was done for me;
The stables littered o'er, the hay piled on the floor.
Strange, how much a hand can do which is so very small!
I could cover with my own, the finger-tips and all.
But she works with heart and hand, and has a willing mind;
Such women in this world are very hard to find.
And now the chores were done, yet there was no rest for me;
My thoughts went to my love, as the streams run to the sea.
Like a rose to me she seemed—a rose of deepest red—
Her bloom and fragrance rare on all she loved to shed.
I knew it was no sin, and I could only mourn,
That whoso plucks the rose, must always take the thorn.
I could not rest at home, 'twas torture to be still,
So I took the meadow path, and wandered to the mill.
While I stood upon the bridge, and watched the wheel go round,
Percy White came down the hill, and passed me with a bound,
On his swift and matchless horse—his hair loose in the wind;
He rode like one who leaves all earthly cares behind.
“So rides the man that's loved, as you may not hope to be.”
A something whispered thus, and inly tortured me.
“So rides the winning man, rich in the world's esteem:
He goes to meet your love, and you idly stand and dream.
Be brave, and follow him! to break with Truth dry bread,
Is better than the feast that is by Falsehood spread.”
A something urged me on,—I followed where it led—
When I went home that night, my hopes and dreams were dead.
My thoughts went to my love, as the streams run to the sea.
Like a rose to me she seemed—a rose of deepest red—
Her bloom and fragrance rare on all she loved to shed.
I knew it was no sin, and I could only mourn,
That whoso plucks the rose, must always take the thorn.
I could not rest at home, 'twas torture to be still,
So I took the meadow path, and wandered to the mill.
While I stood upon the bridge, and watched the wheel go round,
Percy White came down the hill, and passed me with a bound,
On his swift and matchless horse—his hair loose in the wind;
He rode like one who leaves all earthly cares behind.
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A something whispered thus, and inly tortured me.
“So rides the winning man, rich in the world's esteem:
He goes to meet your love, and you idly stand and dream.
Be brave, and follow him! to break with Truth dry bread,
Is better than the feast that is by Falsehood spread.”
A something urged me on,—I followed where it led—
When I went home that night, my hopes and dreams were dead.
II. PART II.
The days were growing short, the nights were long and cool;
The fields were white with frost, the ice was in the pool;
The corn was cut and shocked, and the husking all to do.
I felt too poor to hire, but I had one staunch and true.
When her morning work was done—let skies be foul or fair—
Our Lucy came with helping hand, and saved me from despair.
I had no heart to work, the world looked dark to me;
My days were full of care, my nights of misery;
I longed for leave to go a thousand miles away;
But my mother, weak and frail, entreated me to stay;
“Her days might not be long,” she said, “and she had only one,
And a mother's heart-strings twine so closely round a son.”
So I stayed on—to hear the gossips, far and wide,
Speak their praises of the groom, and their praises of the bride.
Such a wedding ne'er was known in all the country round;
“And so fair a bride and groom were rarely to be found.
Ah! Percy White deserves the prize, so frank and brave is he!
And Jenny is well mated, as 'tis meet that she should be.”
I heard them all, and husked my corn, and left the shocks behind,
And longed sometimes to scatter them, like husks upon the wind.
The fields were white with frost, the ice was in the pool;
The corn was cut and shocked, and the husking all to do.
I felt too poor to hire, but I had one staunch and true.
When her morning work was done—let skies be foul or fair—
Our Lucy came with helping hand, and saved me from despair.
I had no heart to work, the world looked dark to me;
My days were full of care, my nights of misery;
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But my mother, weak and frail, entreated me to stay;
“Her days might not be long,” she said, “and she had only one,
And a mother's heart-strings twine so closely round a son.”
So I stayed on—to hear the gossips, far and wide,
Speak their praises of the groom, and their praises of the bride.
Such a wedding ne'er was known in all the country round;
“And so fair a bride and groom were rarely to be found.
Ah! Percy White deserves the prize, so frank and brave is he!
And Jenny is well mated, as 'tis meet that she should be.”
I heard them all, and husked my corn, and left the shocks behind,
And longed sometimes to scatter them, like husks upon the wind.
When the hard day's work was o'er, and I sat glum and still,
And looked into the fire, and thought, “Life was a bitter pill;
What was the use of living on, so harassed day by day?
I would that I were wandering a thousand miles away.”
My mother knit beside me there, her face was sad and pale;
She always had an anxious look, and she had grown so frail,
The shadows dancing on the walls could scarce more ghostly seem.
But I was blind and deaf to all, wrapped in a selfish dream.
Only Lucy, going back and forth, stopped now and then to say
Some little word of comfort, in a homely, quiet way.
She always sang about her work; her voice was sweet to me—
The songs of birds, the water's gush in her singing seemed to be.
I thought of all the plants that bloom the busy summer through:
The Heart's Ease was the most like her, so bright and cheery too.
It little minds the frost or snow, it cares not for the cold;
It is so full of sunshine, it thaws the frost-bound mould.
While I was thinking thus, and gazing in the fire,
A stern voice said to me, “Why sit you in the mire?
Be up and doing, man! the black ooze closes round!
Many are they who sink—few find the solid ground.
And not alone you go; your mother's heart you break;
She loves her son so well, she'd perish for his sake.
And there is one beside—she works and sings all day,
But through the long, long night she can only weep and pray.
You think your wound is deep; you cry aloud with pain;
She covers close her hurt—would die and not complain.
'Tis strange how blind you are; with healing balm love waits.
You feel 'tis heaven within, yet stand without the gates.
Forget the false, false love! go forth to meet the true!
The roses are all dead, but the Heart's Ease blooms for you.”
I listened to the voice, as I watched the rising flame;
'Tis true 'twas harsh and stern, yet it greatly eased my pain;
And when the winter passed, and the spring came glad and gay,
I had won a love so true—the false love crept away.
And looked into the fire, and thought, “Life was a bitter pill;
What was the use of living on, so harassed day by day?
I would that I were wandering a thousand miles away.”
My mother knit beside me there, her face was sad and pale;
199
The shadows dancing on the walls could scarce more ghostly seem.
But I was blind and deaf to all, wrapped in a selfish dream.
Only Lucy, going back and forth, stopped now and then to say
Some little word of comfort, in a homely, quiet way.
She always sang about her work; her voice was sweet to me—
The songs of birds, the water's gush in her singing seemed to be.
I thought of all the plants that bloom the busy summer through:
The Heart's Ease was the most like her, so bright and cheery too.
It little minds the frost or snow, it cares not for the cold;
It is so full of sunshine, it thaws the frost-bound mould.
While I was thinking thus, and gazing in the fire,
A stern voice said to me, “Why sit you in the mire?
Be up and doing, man! the black ooze closes round!
Many are they who sink—few find the solid ground.
And not alone you go; your mother's heart you break;
She loves her son so well, she'd perish for his sake.
And there is one beside—she works and sings all day,
But through the long, long night she can only weep and pray.
You think your wound is deep; you cry aloud with pain;
200
'Tis strange how blind you are; with healing balm love waits.
You feel 'tis heaven within, yet stand without the gates.
Forget the false, false love! go forth to meet the true!
The roses are all dead, but the Heart's Ease blooms for you.”
I listened to the voice, as I watched the rising flame;
'Tis true 'twas harsh and stern, yet it greatly eased my pain;
And when the winter passed, and the spring came glad and gay,
I had won a love so true—the false love crept away.
| Hagar | |