 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
RACHEL MAYNE.
No change I see, though seven long years
In foreign lands away;
What struck before the eyes and ears
I see and hear to-day.
In foreign lands away;
What struck before the eyes and ears
I see and hear to-day.
256
The blue jay's harsh and chattering note
Surmounts the hum of bees;
The oriole in his flaming coat
Flits through the apple-trees;
Surmounts the hum of bees;
The oriole in his flaming coat
Flits through the apple-trees;
The sheep upon the hillside browse,
The colts in pasture scour;
In yonder close the patient cows
Await the milking-hour.
The colts in pasture scour;
In yonder close the patient cows
Await the milking-hour.
There is the house where I was born,
Long past from me and mine;
The red barn there to which at morn
I went to feed the kine.
Long past from me and mine;
The red barn there to which at morn
I went to feed the kine.
There is the swape above the well;
There spread the fields of maize;
The osiers edge the marshy fell,
As in my early days.
There spread the fields of maize;
The osiers edge the marshy fell,
As in my early days.
The mill is there; the stream flows free,
Piercing the grassy plain;
But where is she who waits for me,
My darling, Rachel Mayne?
Piercing the grassy plain;
But where is she who waits for me,
My darling, Rachel Mayne?
I loved her in the olden time
As few have loved before;
And now, when in my manhood's prime,
I love her even more.
As few have loved before;
And now, when in my manhood's prime,
I love her even more.
I asked her father for her hand,
And these the words he said:
“Who has not gold, nor herds, nor land
Should not with maiden wed.
And these the words he said:
“Who has not gold, nor herds, nor land
Should not with maiden wed.
257
“For seven long twelvemonths Jacob wrought
His Rachel to obtain;
The wealth seven years to you have brought
May buy you Rachel Mayne.
His Rachel to obtain;
The wealth seven years to you have brought
May buy you Rachel Mayne.
“Hope of reward, that toil impels,
Your lagging life may spur;
Seek other lands, where Fortune dwells,
And win both wealth and her.”
Your lagging life may spur;
Seek other lands, where Fortune dwells,
And win both wealth and her.”
Then here we parted, I and she,
With many tears and sighs;
But ever since has dwelt with me
Her tender, love-lit eyes.
With many tears and sighs;
But ever since has dwelt with me
Her tender, love-lit eyes.
Why comes she not? Why stays she now,
When she has naught to fear?
Has she forgot the parting vow
She made to meet me here?
When she has naught to fear?
Has she forgot the parting vow
She made to meet me here?
I wrote her, ere my vessel sailed,
To meet me of her grace,
If she in truth had never failed,
At our old trysting-place.
To meet me of her grace,
If she in truth had never failed,
At our old trysting-place.
Why comes she not? The sun is high;
The hour of noon has passed;
Or means she first my love to try,
To bless me at the last?
The hour of noon has passed;
Or means she first my love to try,
To bless me at the last?
Perchance my letter missed. Therein
The reason doubtless lies.
I'll seek her, then, her home within,
And give her glad surprise.
The reason doubtless lies.
I'll seek her, then, her home within,
And give her glad surprise.
258
A strange way, through the churchyard, this,
To reach my darling's side;
Through death's own home to seek for bliss,
O'er tombs to gain a bride.
To reach my darling's side;
Through death's own home to seek for bliss,
O'er tombs to gain a bride.
And here a tombstone, gay and tall,
The marble yet unsoiled.
The name! She meets me, after all!
Was it for this I've toiled?
The marble yet unsoiled.
The name! She meets me, after all!
Was it for this I've toiled?
She is not dead! She could not die!
The letters blaze like fire!
Why, I came here to-day to buy
My dear one from her sire.
The letters blaze like fire!
Why, I came here to-day to buy
My dear one from her sire.
I have the price; where is the ware?
Ah, me! why idly rave?
My life is with my Rachel there;
My heart is in her grave.
Ah, me! why idly rave?
My life is with my Rachel there;
My heart is in her grave.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |