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286
MADGE MILLER.
Madge Miller, on a summer day,
Walked, as usual, her pleasant way.
Walked, as usual, her pleasant way.
Her dress was tidy, her apron white;
Her face was sweet as the morning light.
Her face was sweet as the morning light.
She was a simple village maid
Learning a country milliner's trade.
Learning a country milliner's trade.
Her hands were soft, and her dress was clean,
And little she knew what care might mean.
And little she knew what care might mean.
She said, “I'll work at my pretty trade,
And live a happy and free old maid.
And live a happy and free old maid.
“Lovers may come and lovers may go,
I'll have none of them, no, no, no!”
I'll have none of them, no, no, no!”
But a suitor came with a tall silk hat;
He told her a story worth two of that—
He told her a story worth two of that—
The same old story by lovers told
Since first the earth out of chaos rolled—
Since first the earth out of chaos rolled—
(Let us kindly hope, who are old and wise,
He did not know he was telling lies.)
He did not know he was telling lies.)
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“Marry me, darling, and you shall be
The happiest woman on land or sea.
The happiest woman on land or sea.
“No longer then will you have to go
To your daily labor through heat or snow.
To your daily labor through heat or snow.
“It shall be my pleasure, my law, my life,
To make you a blest and happy wife.
To make you a blest and happy wife.
“Marry me, and you never shall know
A sorrow or hardship, a care or woe!”
A sorrow or hardship, a care or woe!”
She heard the story of promised bliss—
She waited, wavered, and answered “Yes!”
She waited, wavered, and answered “Yes!”
Bright and big was the honey-moon,
But clouded by worldly care too soon.
But clouded by worldly care too soon.
For housework led her its weary round—
Her feet were tethered, her hands were bound.
Her feet were tethered, her hands were bound.
And children came with their shrill demands,
And fettered closer her burdened hands.
And fettered closer her burdened hands.
In her husband's house she came to be
A servant in all but salary.
A servant in all but salary.
All her days, whether foul or fair,
Were endless circles of work and care;
Were endless circles of work and care;
And half her nights—as up and down
She walked the floor in her dressing-gown,
She walked the floor in her dressing-gown,
Hushing an ailing infant's screams,
Lest it should break its father's dreams;
Lest it should break its father's dreams;
Or coaxed and doctored a sobbing child,
By the pangs of ear-ache driven wild—
By the pangs of ear-ache driven wild—
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Were seasons of wakeful, nervous dread—
So if at last o'er her aching head
So if at last o'er her aching head
The angel of slumber chanced to stoop,
He brought her visions of mumps or croup;
He brought her visions of mumps or croup;
And she rose unrested, and went once more
Through the dull routine of the day before.
Through the dull routine of the day before.
Week by week did she drudge and toil
And stew and pickle, and roast and boil,
And stew and pickle, and roast and boil,
And wash the dishes, and rub the knives—
The lofty mission of duteous wives—
The lofty mission of duteous wives—
And scrub, and iron, and sweep, and cook,
Her only reading a recipe-book,—
Her only reading a recipe-book,—
And bathe the children, and brush their locks,
Button their aprons and pin their frocks,
Button their aprons and pin their frocks,
And patch old garments, and darn and mend—
Oh! weary worry that has no end!
Oh! weary worry that has no end!
She lost her airy and sportive ways,
The pretty charm of her girlish days—
The pretty charm of her girlish days—
For how can a playful fancy rove
When one is chained to a cooking-stove?
When one is chained to a cooking-stove?
Her face was old ere she reached her prime,
Faded and care-worn before its time.
Faded and care-worn before its time.
Sometimes would her well-kept husband look
Up from the page of his paper or book,
Up from the page of his paper or book,
And note how the bloom had left her face,
And a pallid thinness won its place—
And a pallid thinness won its place—
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How gray had mixed with her locks of brown,
And her forehead gained a growing frown,
And her forehead gained a growing frown,
And say, “She is ugly, I declare—
I wonder I ever could think her fair!”
I wonder I ever could think her fair!”
Season by season, year by year,
Did she follow the round of “woman's sphere,”
Did she follow the round of “woman's sphere,”
Nor vexed her husband's days or nights,
By any mention of woman's rights,
By any mention of woman's rights,
Till she did at last—too sorely tried—
Her life's one selfish deed—she died.
Her life's one selfish deed—she died.
Proud and happy and quite content
With the slavish way her days were spent?
With the slavish way her days were spent?
Feeling, of course, that her life was lost
Nobly, in saving a servant's cost?
Nobly, in saving a servant's cost?
Once, he fancied, her dim ghost spoke
Out of its cloud of kitchen smoke—
Out of its cloud of kitchen smoke—
“Why did I leave my girlish life
To be a dowdy and drudging wife?
To be a dowdy and drudging wife?
“I might have followed my tasteful trade,
And lived a happy and free old maid—
And lived a happy and free old maid—
“Or taught a school, as I had before,
Or been a clerk in a dry-goods store—
Or been a clerk in a dry-goods store—
“Or reigned a trim, white-handed queen,
Over a dutiful sewing-machine—
Over a dutiful sewing-machine—
“And earned my living, and some small praise,
In any one of these easier ways.
In any one of these easier ways.
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“No other servants than wives, I think,
Work for nothing but food and drink,
Work for nothing but food and drink,
“A prisoning ‘home’ like this I know,
And a semi-annual calico.
And a semi-annual calico.
“No other employer, dame or man,
Makes life so hard as a husband can.
Makes life so hard as a husband can.
“Ah, me! what curses are on his head
Who wooes a woman and does not wed!
Who wooes a woman and does not wed!
“O mourning damsels, who pine and cry
For fickle lovers, who vow and fly,
For fickle lovers, who vow and fly,
“Heal your heart-aches, and soothe your woes
With the hard-earned wisdom of one who knows:
With the hard-earned wisdom of one who knows:
“Small reason have you to blame or rue
The lover who does not marry you!
The lover who does not marry you!
“Ah! of all sad thoughts of women or men
The saddest is this, ‘It need n't have been!’”
The saddest is this, ‘It need n't have been!’”
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