 | The White Pilgrim and Other Poems |  |
115
A HOME-SIDE STORY.
She was a fair and sunny child,
When first I knew her;
Her winning ways my heart beguiled,
And knit me to her.
World-worn, and tossing on the tide
And storm of life,
I loved to have her at my side,
My baby-wife.
When first I knew her;
Her winning ways my heart beguiled,
And knit me to her.
World-worn, and tossing on the tide
And storm of life,
I loved to have her at my side,
My baby-wife.
On fairy lore her mind I fed,
And sage romances,
That filled the pretty little head
With earnest fancies.
While as her gracious childhood grew,
Shone from her eyes
That wondrous light of wisdom true—
Than ours more wise—
And sage romances,
That filled the pretty little head
With earnest fancies.
While as her gracious childhood grew,
Shone from her eyes
That wondrous light of wisdom true—
Than ours more wise—
Which as a lesson grave and good,
And taught of Heaven,
Through the pure lips of infanthood,
To man is given.
Drawn daily closer each to each
In heart we were;
But more than I to her could teach,
I learned from her.
And taught of Heaven,
Through the pure lips of infanthood,
To man is given.
116
In heart we were;
But more than I to her could teach,
I learned from her.
We parted: I for other climes
And hard endeavour
To do my battle with the times,
Which fight us ever.
But, whether Fortune frowned or smiled,
Still in my mind
I kept the image of the child
I left behind.
And hard endeavour
To do my battle with the times,
Which fight us ever.
But, whether Fortune frowned or smiled,
Still in my mind
I kept the image of the child
I left behind.
She grew up on the quiet path
Of homely duty,
In all that mind or body hath
Of grace and beauty;
'Mid her allotted joys and cares
Pursued her way,
But still remembered, in her prayers,
For me to pray.
Of homely duty,
In all that mind or body hath
Of grace and beauty;
'Mid her allotted joys and cares
Pursued her way,
But still remembered, in her prayers,
For me to pray.
Formed and compact of sober stuff,
In simple fashion
My life went on with friends enough,
But strange to passion.
I thought myself the common lot
Of earth above;
Light fancies I had known, but not—
What men call Love.
In simple fashion
My life went on with friends enough,
But strange to passion.
I thought myself the common lot
Of earth above;
Light fancies I had known, but not—
What men call Love.
117
We met again: the budding flower,
So fondly tended,
Had borne at its appointed hour,
A blossom splendid.
Another tale on me had told
The years that fled,
Which, while they filled my hand with gold,
Silvered my head.
So fondly tended,
Had borne at its appointed hour,
A blossom splendid.
Another tale on me had told
The years that fled,
Which, while they filled my hand with gold,
Silvered my head.
No need of many words to tell
How then I met her;
Changed as she was, I knew her well—
Who could forget her?
About her was some subtle sense
Of sweet perfume,
That, waiting on her innocence,
Entered the room.
How then I met her;
Changed as she was, I knew her well—
Who could forget her?
About her was some subtle sense
Of sweet perfume,
That, waiting on her innocence,
Entered the room.
The world, with all its silken ties,
Closely had bound her;
The young, the noble, breathed their sighs,
And vows around her.
Then learned I, from the sudden smart
Of jealous pain,
That I had found, within my heart,
My youth again.
Closely had bound her;
The young, the noble, breathed their sighs,
And vows around her.
Then learned I, from the sudden smart
Of jealous pain,
That I had found, within my heart,
My youth again.
I watched, if haply in her eyes
I might discover,
From wandering glance, or swift surprise,
The favoured lover.
But she was calm and kind, the while
Methought was worn
A something, in her friendly smile,
Of quiet scorn.
I might discover,
From wandering glance, or swift surprise,
The favoured lover.
118
Methought was worn
A something, in her friendly smile,
Of quiet scorn.
I stepped from out the throng: her glance
Went through and through me,
And gave in wordless utterance,
Her welcome to me.
Her very start was a caress;
She did not speak;
But flushed, with sudden tenderness,
From brow to cheek.
Went through and through me,
And gave in wordless utterance,
Her welcome to me.
Her very start was a caress;
She did not speak;
But flushed, with sudden tenderness,
From brow to cheek.
No thought had she of name or fame,
Of rank or glory;
And soon in faltering accents came
The old old story.
Her heart's desire was this, to share
With me her life:
And so I won, and so I wear
My noble wife.
Of rank or glory;
And soon in faltering accents came
The old old story.
Her heart's desire was this, to share
With me her life:
And so I won, and so I wear
My noble wife.
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