 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
111
HELEN LEE.
Rosy-cheeked, dark-haired October
Through the land was passing gayly,
Crowned with maize-leaves, and behind him
Followed Plenty with her horn,
Calling in the later harvests,
Flattering the chuckling farmer,
Pelting him with ruddy apples,
And with shocks of yellow corn.
Through the land was passing gayly,
Crowned with maize-leaves, and behind him
Followed Plenty with her horn,
Calling in the later harvests,
Flattering the chuckling farmer,
Pelting him with ruddy apples,
And with shocks of yellow corn.
He it was whose royal pleasure
Clothed the woods in gold and purple;
He it was whose fickle pleasure
Clothed them, stripped, and left them bare;
Then, as if in late contrition,
Summoned back the truant summer,
Wove of smoke an azure mantle
For the shivering earth to wear.
Clothed the woods in gold and purple;
He it was whose fickle pleasure
Clothed them, stripped, and left them bare;
Then, as if in late contrition,
Summoned back the truant summer,
Wove of smoke an azure mantle
For the shivering earth to wear.
Poor amends the Indian summer
Made, with all its pitying sunshine,
For the loss of leafy glory,
Painted flower, and singing bird;
So from rocks, and trees, and hedges,
From the fallen leaves and grasses,
Came a sound of mourning, as the
Melancholy breezes stirred.
Made, with all its pitying sunshine,
For the loss of leafy glory,
Painted flower, and singing bird;
So from rocks, and trees, and hedges,
From the fallen leaves and grasses,
Came a sound of mourning, as the
Melancholy breezes stirred.
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Yet the train of hale October
Rang with laughter, song, and dancing,
As the young men and the maidens
Sang and danced the harvest-home;
As from many a low-roofed farmhouse
Flashed the lights of merry-making,
Rose the note of ready-making
For the merriment to come.
Rang with laughter, song, and dancing,
As the young men and the maidens
Sang and danced the harvest-home;
As from many a low-roofed farmhouse
Flashed the lights of merry-making,
Rose the note of ready-making
For the merriment to come.
Pleasant was the starry evening,
Pleasant, though the air was chilly,
When the youths and maidens gathered
At the call of David Lee,—
David Lee, the hearty farmer,
Who had wrestled with his acres,
And in barn, and stack, and cellar
Stored the spoils of victory.
Pleasant, though the air was chilly,
When the youths and maidens gathered
At the call of David Lee,—
David Lee, the hearty farmer,
Who had wrestled with his acres,
And in barn, and stack, and cellar
Stored the spoils of victory.
As the beaks of captured vessels,
Gilded ensigns, suits of armor,
Shone as trophies on the temples
Of the gods, in classic days,
So around the farmer's kitchen
Hung long rows of golden melons;
So along the farmer's rafters
Hung festoons of perfect maize.
Gilded ensigns, suits of armor,
Shone as trophies on the temples
Of the gods, in classic days,
So around the farmer's kitchen
Hung long rows of golden melons;
So along the farmer's rafters
Hung festoons of perfect maize.
Not a child had Farmer David,—
He had known the loss of children,
Known a parent's voiceless anguish,
When the rose forsakes the cheek,—
When the hand grows thin and thinner,
And the pulses fainter, feebler,—
When the eyes are sunk and leaden,
And the tongue forgets to speak.
He had known the loss of children,
Known a parent's voiceless anguish,
When the rose forsakes the cheek,—
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And the pulses fainter, feebler,—
When the eyes are sunk and leaden,
And the tongue forgets to speak.
One bright spring a pair of rosebuds,
Growing in the father's garden,
Filled his hope with crimson promise,
They were gone in early June.
Then there came a tiny daughter,
Learned to kiss and call him ‘Father,’
Vanished like an April snow-flake,—
And the mother followed soon.
Growing in the father's garden,
Filled his hope with crimson promise,
They were gone in early June.
Then there came a tiny daughter,
Learned to kiss and call him ‘Father,’
Vanished like an April snow-flake,—
And the mother followed soon.
Then his face grew dark and stony,
Then his soul shrunk up in sorrow,
As a flower shuts at nightfall
From the dampness and the cold;
Till a sister, dying, left him
Her one child, a blue-eyed darling,
Whose dear love and tender graces
Kept his heart from growing old.
Then his soul shrunk up in sorrow,
As a flower shuts at nightfall
From the dampness and the cold;
Till a sister, dying, left him
Her one child, a blue-eyed darling,
Whose dear love and tender graces
Kept his heart from growing old.
Maidenhood stole softly on her,
Like the changing of the seasons,
Till the neighbors came to think her
Beautiful as one could be;
And the young men, when they met her,
Blushed, they knew not why, and stammered,
And would prize a kingdom cheaper
Than a smile of Helen Lee.
Like the changing of the seasons,
Till the neighbors came to think her
Beautiful as one could be;
And the young men, when they met her,
Blushed, they knew not why, and stammered,
And would prize a kingdom cheaper
Than a smile of Helen Lee.
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In the barn the youths and maidens
Stripped the corn of husk and tassel,
Warmed the chillness of October
With the life of spring and May;
While through every chink the lanterns,
And sonorous gusts of laughter,
Made assault on night and silence
With the counterfeit of day.
Stripped the corn of husk and tassel,
Warmed the chillness of October
With the life of spring and May;
While through every chink the lanterns,
And sonorous gusts of laughter,
Made assault on night and silence
With the counterfeit of day.
Songs were sung,—sweet English ballads,—
Which their fathers and their mothers
Sang together by the rivers
Of the dear old fatherland;
Tales were told,—quaint English stories,
Tales of humor and of pathos;
Tales of love, and home, and fireside,
That a child could understand.
Which their fathers and their mothers
Sang together by the rivers
Of the dear old fatherland;
Tales were told,—quaint English stories,
Tales of humor and of pathos;
Tales of love, and home, and fireside,
That a child could understand.
Most they called on Richard Miller,
Prince among the story-tellers;
Young and graceful, strong and handsome,
Rich in all that blesses life;
For his stories ended happy,—
Ended always with a marriage;
Every youth became a husband,
Every maid became a wife.
Prince among the story-tellers;
Young and graceful, strong and handsome,
Rich in all that blesses life;
For his stories ended happy,—
Ended always with a marriage;
Every youth became a husband,
Every maid became a wife.
So he told how Harry Marline
Roved about the world a long time,
Then returned to find the maiden
Whom he loved had proven true,—
How he brought home gold and silver,
How they made a famous wedding;
And he closed by saying slyly,
‘An example, girls, for you!’
Roved about the world a long time,
Then returned to find the maiden
Whom he loved had proven true,—
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How they made a famous wedding;
And he closed by saying slyly,
‘An example, girls, for you!’
Then said Helen, smiling archly,
‘I will never have a husband!’
And the ear which she was husking
Fell into the basket, red;
Whereupon they clapped and shouted,
For a red ear means a lover,
And the maiden, vexed and blushing,
In the shadow hid her head.
‘I will never have a husband!’
And the ear which she was husking
Fell into the basket, red;
Whereupon they clapped and shouted,
For a red ear means a lover,
And the maiden, vexed and blushing,
In the shadow hid her head.
Soon the jest was quite forgotten,
And her face again she lifted
To behold his eyes upon her
With a look so strange and new,
That, when games and dancing followed,
And she chanced to touch his fingers,
In her hand she felt a tremor,
On her cheek a warmer hue.
And her face again she lifted
To behold his eyes upon her
With a look so strange and new,
That, when games and dancing followed,
And she chanced to touch his fingers,
In her hand she felt a tremor,
On her cheek a warmer hue.
When the candles burning dimly,
Flaring, smoking in the socket,
Sent the party homeward, shouting,
Through the starlight crisp and clear,
Richard lingered in the doorway,
Took the bashful hand of Helen,
Whispered softly in the darkness
Pleasant words for maid to hear.
Flaring, smoking in the socket,
Sent the party homeward, shouting,
Through the starlight crisp and clear,
Richard lingered in the doorway,
Took the bashful hand of Helen,
Whispered softly in the darkness
Pleasant words for maid to hear.
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When she sought her little chamber,
Long she could not sleep for thinking
Of his looks, his voice, and language,
For the youth had turned her head;
In her dreams she murmured, ‘Richard,’
When she woke her thought was, ‘Richard,’
When she bade ‘Good morning, father!’
‘Richard,’ she had almost said.
Long she could not sleep for thinking
Of his looks, his voice, and language,
For the youth had turned her head;
In her dreams she murmured, ‘Richard,’
When she woke her thought was, ‘Richard,’
When she bade ‘Good morning, father!’
‘Richard,’ she had almost said.
O the pleasant, pleasant autumn!
How it seemed like spring-time to them!
How the flowers budded, blossomed,
In their hearts afresh each day!
O the walks they had together,
From the singing-schools and parties,
In the white and frosty moonlight,
In the starlight cold and gray!
How it seemed like spring-time to them!
How the flowers budded, blossomed,
In their hearts afresh each day!
O the walks they had together,
From the singing-schools and parties,
In the white and frosty moonlight,
In the starlight cold and gray!
O the happy winter evenings!
Long, indeed, to want and sickness,
Short enough to youth and maiden
By the hearth of David Lee;
Looking in each other's faces,
Listening to each other's voices,
Blending with the golden present
Golden days that were to be.
Long, indeed, to want and sickness,
Short enough to youth and maiden
By the hearth of David Lee;
Looking in each other's faces,
Listening to each other's voices,
Blending with the golden present
Golden days that were to be.
When the voice of spring was calling
To the flowers in field and forest,
‘It is time to waken, children!’
And the flowers obeyed the call;
When the cattle on the hillside,
And the fishes in the river,
Felt anew the joy of living,
Was a wedding festival.
To the flowers in field and forest,
‘It is time to waken, children!’
And the flowers obeyed the call;
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And the fishes in the river,
Felt anew the joy of living,
Was a wedding festival.
Violets and honeysuckles
Bloomed on window-sill and mantel,
On the old clock's oaken turret,
In the young bride's flaxen hair;
And the sweet-brier filled the morning
With its eloquence of odor;—
‘Life is cold, but love can warm it;
O, be faithful, happy pair!’
Bloomed on window-sill and mantel,
On the old clock's oaken turret,
In the young bride's flaxen hair;
And the sweet-brier filled the morning
With its eloquence of odor;—
‘Life is cold, but love can warm it;
O, be faithful, happy pair!’
Solemnly the village pastor
Said the simple marriage-service;
Then came one, with roguish twinkle,
Asking, ‘had another heard
Of a certain little maiden
Who would never have a husband?’
And the young bride turned to Richard,
Smiled, but answered not a word.
Said the simple marriage-service;
Then came one, with roguish twinkle,
Asking, ‘had another heard
Of a certain little maiden
Who would never have a husband?’
And the young bride turned to Richard,
Smiled, but answered not a word.
And as Farmer Lee looked on them,
Down his cheek the tears were falling,
But a light shone from his features
On the circle gathered round,
And he leaned on Richard's shoulder,
Saying, ‘Friends, be happy with me,
For I have not lost a daughter,
But a worthy son have found!’
Down his cheek the tears were falling,
But a light shone from his features
On the circle gathered round,
And he leaned on Richard's shoulder,
Saying, ‘Friends, be happy with me,
For I have not lost a daughter,
But a worthy son have found!’
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |