Journeys Through Bookland Volume Vii Part 19

His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, For their mother,--may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to s.h.i.+ne just as brightly as then, That night when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips--when low, murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken; Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He pa.s.ses the fountain, the blasted pine tree,-- The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?

Was it moonlight so wondrously flas.h.i.+ng?

It looked like a rifle: "Ha! Mary, good-by!"

And the life-blood is ebbing and plas.h.i.+ng.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,-- No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,-- The picket's off duty forever.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME

_By_ STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER

The sun s.h.i.+nes bright in our old Kentucky home; 'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay; The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day; The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, all happy, all bright; By'm by hard times comes knockin' at the door,-- Then my old Kentucky home, good night!

CHORUS

Weep no more, my lady; O weep no more to-day!

We'll sing one song for my old Kentucky home, For my old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the possum and the c.o.o.n, On the meadow, the hill, and the sh.o.r.e; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon, On the bench by the old cabin door; The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart, With sorrow where all was delight; The time has come, when the darkeys have to part, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, Wherever the darkey may go; A few more days, and the troubles all will end, In the field where the sugar-cane grow; A few more days to tote the weary load, No matter, it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

_By_ MATTHEW ARNOLD

Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below!

Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds sh.o.r.eward blow, Now the salt tides seaward flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

Children dear, let us away!

This way, this way!

Call her once before you go-- Call once yet!

In a voice that she will know "Margaret! Margaret!"

Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain-- Surely she will come again!

Call her once and come away; This way, this way!

"Mother dear, we cannot stay!

The wild white horses foam and fret."

Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down; Call no more!

One last look at the white-wall'd town, And the little gray church on the windy sh.o.r.e; Then come down!

She will not come though you call all day; Come away, come away!

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LITTLE GRAY CHURCH ON THE WINDY Sh.o.r.e]

Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay?

In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell?

Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Where the sea beasts, ranged all around, Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground; Where the sea snakes coil and twine, Dry their mail and bask in the brine; Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye?

When did music come this way?

Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away?

Once she sate with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee.

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.

She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the sh.o.r.e to-day.

'Twill be Easter-time in the world--ah me!

And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee."

I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea caves!"

She smil'd, she went up through the surf in the bay.

Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; Come!" I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.

We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town; Through the narrow, pav'd streets, where all was still, To the little gray church on the windy hill.

From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes.

She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear; "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here!

Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."

But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book!

Loud prays the priest: shut stands the door.

Come away, children, call no more!

Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down!

Down to the depths of the sea!

She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy.

For the humming street, and the child with its toy!

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun!"

And so she sings her fill.

Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh, For the cold, strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children; Come, children, come down!

The hoa.r.s.e wind blows colder; Lights s.h.i.+ne in the town.

She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar.

We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl.

Singing: "Here came a mortal, But faithless was she!