University of Virginia Library

A year has gone since last the voice
That taught her infant words—
Her mother's voice—brought early loves
And patience to her mind.
And many lisping tongues since then
Have mimicked truth and hope;
Or for the easy merchandise
Of smiles have bartered praise.
But how to meet her mother now?—
And yet it must be done;
She will be glad, thought Maryanne,
To find a lady in her child.

Andrew came with her; they had walked
Two days to see her daughter;
Poor Andrew! he was grave, he smiled,
He pondered, and he hoped.
But she did not run to meet them,—
She did not push him back and laugh,—
Nor kiss her mother's cheek.
Scarce knew he, with a quivering lip,
Which way to look—her dress
So jauntily assumed, her hair
So 'tired, her head so cunningly
Withheld, so cold her eye.
He had brought a gift to her,
But he wavered long, altho'
Two weeks of labour it had cost,
Whether he ought to offer it.
They left her—silent sat she long;
Every word that had been said,—
Each look she would recall:
With her wide eyes fixed upon the floor,
She neither smiled nor wept.
A face bends over her drooping neck,
So close, its breathing stirs her hair:
Her red lips leap, her eyes expand,
Her young heart flutters, throbs:—ah! now
She can both smile and weep!
Her hand and heart, her body, her life
She would give him—freely give.
Smother up the thoughts of ill!
Heaven is around her, as he lisps
“All is prepared; come Marian,
For ever come with me.”