 | Hagar |  |
233
DOROTHY GREY.
“Where's Dorothy, mother?” asked bluff Farmer Grey,As he entered the kitchen, one morning in May,
With despair in his tone and a frown on his brow;
And he growled, “Oh, that girl! what's become of her now?
She was to mend me some bags—two hours ago—
And here I'm waiting on her motions so slow.
'Tis seldom that I with the children find fault;
But sorely she tries me,—she don't earn her salt.”
The mother looked troubled,—“Wait, father; I'll call;”
And, “Dorothy!” sounded through chamber and hall.
234
Where the spiders triumphant their banners unroll'd,
And the small narrow window half stinted the ray
Which fell on the form of sweet Dorothy Grey.
She sat—by a chest filled with pieces and rolls—
The odds and the ends dear to housekeepers' souls:
The bags, worn and dusty, around her were tossed,
Unheeded, forgotten,—in dreams she was lost.
One hand propped her forehead, half hid by her hair,
While another held tightly a fairy book rare.
Oh, the wonderful pictures! the glories untold!
That arose on her vision, all glittering with gold!
The brown rafters vanished, and vanished the hoard
Of cast-offs and may-wants her mother had stored—
Carpet rags, saddle-bags, old clothes past repair,
Dried bunches of herbs, all cob-webbed, hung there.
In their place was a ceiling which loomed up so high,
All studded with stars, and as blue as the sky.
Around it hung banners and garlands so gay,
And wax-lights made every thing bright as the day;
While strains of sweet music came soft on the air,
And light feet were dancing right joyously there.
Oh, the beautiful ladies that swept through the rooms,
With dresses like rainbows, and high nodding plumes!
And the princes and lords, all in gallant attire!
How they danced, as the music rose higher and higher!
Then the fair Cinderella tripped smilingly by
With the Prince, so resplendent none with him may vie!
Oh, the exquisite story! how it held her in thrall,
As she poured o'er the scenes of that wonderful ball!
Her red lips half parted with joy and surprise,
While beaming and dancing with joy were her eyes.
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As, “Dorothy!” comes through the half-opened door.
She starts as though guilty, poor child! of a sin;
And down goes the chest-lid, her treasure within.
“Yes, mother, I'm coming;” and smiling she goes
Down the worm-eaten stairs—to be scolded, she knows;
But chide her and scold her, as long as they may,
Still that beautiful vision has Dorothy Grey.
| Hagar | |