University of Virginia Library

OLD SONGS.

Alone in the twilight tender,
I plan the coming days,
While the supple flames are lapping
In weird, fantastic ways;
When out of the startled darkness
There springs a single note,—
And the first light strains of a prelude
Slow into the silence float.
'T is Mother's touch! How quietly she always enters in!
With child-like throb I listen now to hear the song begin:
“Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!” Ah, me! The woful shame!
And “how she cheated him” I learn with honest ire and blame.
And then a moment's silence, a fallen music-page—
And gone all thought of cruel wife and sorry lover's rage.
The shadowy parlor-walls grow wide and change to meadows fair,
For the sweet “Bluebells of Scotland” are waving in the air.
The summer sky is over them, the fragrant breezes blow,
But, ere they fade, the voice begins in cadence sad and slow.
“What's this dull town to me?” it sings. “Ah, what indeed,” I sigh,—
For “Robin is not here” it sobs, in plaintive, broken cry.
Poor, lonely lassie! weeping sore. My heart is with her still,
When suddenly, in changeful mood, there comes a martial thrill;
And now I know that through the land one burst of fervor rings,
As “Who'll be king but Charlie?” the sweet voice faintly sings.
Ah, good it is to listen here, in flitting shadows hid!—
Till comes a silken rustle; and then with folded lid
The old piano silent stands,—and the wide hall's swinging light
Reveals the tall, retreating form, framed in the doorway bright.
Only a moment. Vanished now the softly-kerchiefed gown;
And once again, the firelight chasing shadows up and down,
Is all I see, as thoughtfully I lift the warm brass tongs,
And turn the embers over to the echoes of old songs.