Naught within her eyes he read That would tell her mind unto him; Though their light, he after said, Quivered swiftly through and through him; Till at last his heart burst free From the prayer with which 'twas laden, And he said, "When wilt thou be Mine for evermore, fair maiden?"

"When," said she, "the breeze of May With white flakes our heads shall cover, I will be thy brideling gay-- Thou shall be my husband-lover."

"How," said he, in sorrow bowed, "Can I hope such hopeful weather?

Breeze of May and Winter's cloud Do not often fly together."

Quickly as the words he said, From the west a wind came sighing, And on each uncovered head Sent the apple-blossoms flying; "'Flakes of white!' thou'rt mine," said he, "Sooner than thy wish or knowing!"

"Nay, I heard the breeze," quoth she, "When in yonder forest blowing."

APPLES GROWING.

Underneath an apple-tree Sat a dame of comely seeming, With her work upon her knee, And her great eyes idly dreaming.

O'er the harvest-acres bright, Came her husband's din of reaping; Near to her, an infant wight Through the tangled gra.s.s was creeping.

On the branches long and high, And the great green apples growing, Rested she her wandering eye, With a retrospective knowing.

"This," she said, "the shelter is, Where, when gay and raven-headed, I consented to be his, And our willing hearts were wedded.

"Laughing words and peals of mirth, Long are changed to grave endeavor; Sorrow's winds have swept to earth Many a blossomed hope forever.

Thunder-heads have hovered o'er-- Storms my path have chilled and shaded; Of the bloom my gay youth bore, Some has fruited--more has faded."

Quickly, and amid her sighs, Through the gra.s.s her baby wrestled, Smiled on her its father's eyes, And unto her bosom nestled.

And with sudden, joyous glee, Half the wife's and half the mother's, "Still the best is left," said she: "I have learned to live for others."

ONE AND TWO.

I.

If you to me be cold, Or I be false to you, The world will go on, I think, Just as it used to do; The clouds will flirt with the moon, The sun will kiss the sea, The wind to the trees will whisper, And laugh at you and me; But the sun will not shine so bright, The clouds will not seem so white, To one, as they will to two; So I think you had better be kind, And I had best be true, And let the old love go on, Just as it used to do.

II.

If the whole of a page be read, If a book be finished through, Still the world may read on, I think, Just as it used to do; For other lovers will con The pages that we have pa.s.sed, And the treacherous gold of the binding Will glitter unto the last.

But lids have a lonely look, And one may not read the book-- It opens only to two; So I think you had better be kind, And I had best be true, And let the reading go on, Just as it used to do.

III.

If we who have sailed together Flit out of each other's view, The world will sail on, I think, Just as it used to do; And we may reckon by stars That flash from different skies, And another of love's pirates May capture my lost prize; But ships long time together Can better the tempest weather Than any other two; So I think you had better be kind, And I had best be true, That we together may sail, Just as we used to do.

THE FADING FLOWER.

There is a chillness in the air-- A coldness in the smile of day; And e'en the sunbeam's crimson glare Seems shaded with a tinge of gray.

Weary of journeys to and fro, The sun low creeps adown the sky; And on the shivering earth below, The long, cold shadows grimly lie.

But there will fall a deeper shade, More chilling than the Autumn's breath: There is a flower that yet must fade, And yield its sweetness up to death.

She sits upon the window-seat, Musing in mournful silence there, While on her brow the sunbeams meet, And dally with her golden hair.

She gazes on the sea of light That overflows the western skies, Till her great soul seems plumed for flight From out the window of her eyes.

Hopes unfulfilled have vexed her breast, Sad smiles have checked the rising sigh; Until her weary heart confessed, Reluctantly, that she must die.

And she has thought of all the ties-- The golden ties--that bind her here; Of all that she has learned to prize, Of all that she has counted dear;

The joys of body, heart, and mind, The pleasures that she loves so well; The grasp of friendship, warm and kind, And love's delicious, hallowed spell.

And she has wept, that she must lie Beneath the snow-wreaths, drifted deep, With no fond mother standing nigh, To watch her in her silent sleep.

And she has prayed, if it might be Within the reach of human skill, And not averse to Heaven, that she Might live a little longer still.

But earthly hope is gone; and now Comes in its place a brighter beam, Leaving upon her snowy brow The impress of a heavenly dream:

That she, when her frail body yields, And fades away to mortal eyes, Shall burst through Heaven's eternal fields, And bloom again--in Paradise.

AUTUMN DAYS.

Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward-flying swallow.

Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden, Autumn days!

Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Woefully and hoa.r.s.ely calling; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling.

Sad and mournful are thy ways, Grieving, wailing, Autumn days!

DEATH-DOOMED.

They're taking me to the gallows, mother--they mean to hang me high; They're going to gather round me there, and watch me till I die; All earthly joy has vanished now, and gone each mortal hope,-- They'll draw a cap across my eyes, and round my neck a rope; The crazy mob will shout and groan--the priest will read a prayer, The drop will fall beneath my feet and leave me in the air.

They think I murdered Allen Bayne; for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

The gra.s.s that grows in yonder meadow, the lambs that skip and play, The pebbled brook behind the orchard, that laughs upon its way, The flowers that bloom in the dear old garden, the birds that sing and fly, Are clear and pure of human blood, and, mother, so am I!

By father's grave on yonder hill--his name without a stain-- I ne'er had malice in my heart, or murdered Allen Bayne!

But twelve good men have found me guilty, for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

The air is fresh and bracing, mother; the sun shines bright and high; It is a pleasant day to live--a gloomy one to die!

It is a bright and glorious day the joys of earth to grasp-- It is a sad and wretched one to strangle, choke, and gasp!

But let them damp my lofty spirit, or cow me if they can!

They send me like a rogue to death--I'll meet it like a man; For I never murdered Allen Bayne! but so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!