Afterwhiles Part 3

And they rode and rode; and the steeds they neighed And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides Flickered and lightened and glanced and played Like the moon on rippling tides;

And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long, And jostled in time to the teeming throng, And their knightly song besides.

Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur, And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her As one at a wilful child--, And as knight and lady away they flew, And the banners flapped, and the falcon too, And the lances flashed and the bugle blew, He kissed his hand and smiled.

And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, The pageant glittered across the plain, And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower Was only a crimson stain.

And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast, As he blends these words with the wailing blast: "It is the King of the Year rides past!"

And Autumn is here again.

_A Bride_

"O I am weary!" she sighed, as her billowy Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy, Graceful and fair as a G.o.ddess of old: Over her jewels she flung herself drearily, Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast, Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest--.

And naught but her shadowy form in the mirror To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her!

"Weary--?" Of what? Could we fathom the mystery--?

Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears And wash with their dews one white face from her history, Set like a gem in the red rust of years?

Nothing will rest her-- unless he who died of her Strayed from his grave, and in place of the groom, Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her, Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom--.

And naught but that shadowy form in the mirror To heel in dumb agony down and weep near her!

_The Dead Lover_

Time is so long when a man is dead!

Some one sews; and the room is made Very clean; and the light is shed Soft through the window-shade.

Yesterday I thought: "I know Just how the bells will sound, and how The friends will talk, and the sermon go, And the hea.r.s.e-horse bow and bow!"

This is to-day; and I have no thing To think of-- nothing whatever to do But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing That wants to fly back to you.

_A Song_

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; There is ever a something sings alway: There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.

The suns.h.i.+ne showers across the grain, And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; And in and out, when the eaves dip rain, The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue: The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.

The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-- There is ever a song somewhere!

_When Bessie Died_

If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; If the white feet into the grave had tripped--"

When Bessie died-- We braided the brown hair, and tied It just as her own little hands Had fastened back the silken strands A thousand times-- the crimson bit Of ribbon woven into it That she had worn with childish pride-- Smoothed down the dainty bow-- and cried When Bessie died.

When Bessie died-- We drew the nursery blinds aside, And as the morning in the room Burst like a primrose into bloom, Her pet canary's cage we hung Where she might hear him when he sung-- And yet not any note he tried, Though she lay listening folded-eyed.

When Bessie died-- We writhed in prayer unsatisfied: We begged of G.o.d, and He did smile In silence on us all the while; And we did see Him, through our tears, Enfolding that fair form of hers, She laughing back against His love The kisses had nothing of-- And death to us He still denied, When Bessie died-- When Bessie died.

_The Shower_

The landscape, like the awed face of a child, Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild The zephyr held its breath.

No wavering glamour-work of light and shade Dappled the s.h.i.+vering surface of the brook; The frightened ripples in their ambuscade Of willows thrilled and shook.

The sullen day grew darker, and anon Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky; With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on The storm's artillery.

The cloud above put on its blackest frown, And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, The lightning s.n.a.t.c.hed it, ripped and flung it down In ravelled shreds of rain:

While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart Drenched with the love of G.o.d.

_A Life Lesson_

There! Little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue, And your play-house too, Are things of the long ago; But childish troubles will soon pa.s.s by--.

There! Little girl; don't cry!

There! Little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad, wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago; But life and love will soon come by--.

There! Little girl; don't cry!

There! Little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your heart, I know; And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago; But heaven holds all for which you sigh--.

There! Little girl; don't cry!

_A Scrawl_

I want to sing something-- but this is all-- I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull As though they were damp, and the echoes fall Limp and unlovable.

Words will not say what I yearn to say-- They will not walk as I want them to, But they stumble and fall in the path of the way Of my telling my love for you.

Simply take what the scrawl is worth-- Knowing I love you as sun the sod On the ripening side of the great round earth That swings in the smile of G.o.d.

_Away_

I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead--. He is just away!

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand He has wandered into an unknown land,