 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
235
THE CONVICT.
The first of the September eves
Sunk its red basement in the sea,
And like swart reapers, bearing sheaves,
Dim shadows thronged immensity.
Then from his ancient kingdom, Night
Wooing the tender Twilight, came,
And from her tent of soft blue light,
Bore her away, a bride of flame.
Sunk its red basement in the sea,
And like swart reapers, bearing sheaves,
Dim shadows thronged immensity.
Then from his ancient kingdom, Night
Wooing the tender Twilight, came,
And from her tent of soft blue light,
Bore her away, a bride of flame.
Pushing aside her golden hair,
And listening to the Autumn's tread,
Along the hill-tops, bleak and bare,
Went Summer, burying her dead;
The frolic winds, out-laughing loud,
Played with the thistle's silver beard,
And drifting seaward like a cloud,
Slowly the wild-birds disappeared.
And listening to the Autumn's tread,
Along the hill-tops, bleak and bare,
Went Summer, burying her dead;
The frolic winds, out-laughing loud,
Played with the thistle's silver beard,
And drifting seaward like a cloud,
Slowly the wild-birds disappeared.
Upon a hill with mosses brown,
Beneath the blue roof of the sky,
As the dim day went sadly down,
Stood all the friend I had, and I—
Watching the sea-mist of the strand
Wave to and fro in Evening's breath,
Like the pale gleaming of the hand
That beckons from the shore of Death,
Talking of days of gladness flown,
Of Sorrow's great o'erwhelming waves,
Of friends loved well as they were known,
Now sleeping in the voiceless graves;
And as our thoughts o'erswept the past,
Like stars that through the darkness move,
Our hearts grew softer, and at last
We talked of friendship, talked of love.
Then, as the long and level reach
Back to our homestead slow we trod,
We gave our fond pure pledges each,
Of truth unto ourselves and God.
Forth to life's conflict and its care,
Doomed wert thou, oh my friend, to go,
Leaving me only hope and prayer
To shelter my poor heart from woe.
“A little year, and we shall meet!”
Still at my heart that whisper thrills—
The spring-shower is not half so sweet,
Covering with violets all the hills.
Beneath the blue roof of the sky,
As the dim day went sadly down,
Stood all the friend I had, and I—
Watching the sea-mist of the strand
Wave to and fro in Evening's breath,
Like the pale gleaming of the hand
That beckons from the shore of Death,
Talking of days of gladness flown,
Of Sorrow's great o'erwhelming waves,
Of friends loved well as they were known,
Now sleeping in the voiceless graves;
And as our thoughts o'erswept the past,
Like stars that through the darkness move,
Our hearts grew softer, and at last
We talked of friendship, talked of love.
Then, as the long and level reach
Back to our homestead slow we trod,
We gave our fond pure pledges each,
Of truth unto ourselves and God.
236
Doomed wert thou, oh my friend, to go,
Leaving me only hope and prayer
To shelter my poor heart from woe.
“A little year, and we shall meet!”
Still at my heart that whisper thrills—
The spring-shower is not half so sweet,
Covering with violets all the hills.
Dimly the days sped, one by one,
Slowly the weeks and months went round,
Until again September's sun
Lighted the hill with moss embrowned.
That night we met—my friend and I—
Not as the last year saw us part:
He as a convict doomed to die,
I with a bleeding, breaking heart—
Not in our homestead, low and old,
Nor under Evening's roof of stars,
But where the earth was damp and cold,
And the light struggled through the bars.
Slowly the weeks and months went round,
Until again September's sun
Lighted the hill with moss embrowned.
That night we met—my friend and I—
Not as the last year saw us part:
He as a convict doomed to die,
I with a bleeding, breaking heart—
Not in our homestead, low and old,
Nor under Evening's roof of stars,
But where the earth was damp and cold,
And the light struggled through the bars.
Others might mock him, or disown,
With lying tongue: my place was there,
And as I bore him to the throne
Upon the pleading arms of prayer,
He told me how Temptation's hand
Pressed the red wine-cup to his lip,
Leaving him powerless to withstand
As the storm leaves the sinking ship;
And how, all blind to evil then,
Down from the way of life he trod,
Sinning against his fellow-men—
Reviling the dear name of God.
With lying tongue: my place was there,
And as I bore him to the throne
Upon the pleading arms of prayer,
He told me how Temptation's hand
Pressed the red wine-cup to his lip,
Leaving him powerless to withstand
As the storm leaves the sinking ship;
And how, all blind to evil then,
Down from the way of life he trod,
Sinning against his fellow-men—
Reviling the dear name of God.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |