A Williams Anthology Part 6

LORRAINE--1870

ANON.

I

Sweetly the June-time twilights wane Over the hills of fair Lorraine,

Sweetly the mellow moonbeams fall O'er rose-wreathed cottage and ivied wall.

But never dawned a brighter eve, Than the holy night of St. Genevieve.

And never moonlight fairer fell, Over the banks of the blue Moselle.

Richly the silver splendor s.h.i.+nes, Spangles with sheen the cl.u.s.tered vines,

And rests, in benediction fair, On midnight tresses and golden hair.

Golden hair and midnight tress, Mingle in tender lovingness,

While the evening breezes breathe upon Marie and Jean,--and their hearts are one!

"The spell of silence lifts at last, Marie, the saint's sweet day is past!

"Her vesper chimes have died away, Where shall we be on Christmas day?"

With answering throb heart thrilled to heart, Hand met hand with sudden start.

For in each soul shone the blessed thought, The vision fair of a little cot,

Nestled beneath the lilac spray, Waiting the blissful bridal day!

Low bowed in tearful silence there, Their hearts rose up in solemn prayer,

And still the mellow l.u.s.tre fell Over the banks of the blue Moselle.

And still the moonlight shone upon Marie and Jean,--and their hearts were one!

II

Six red moons have rolled away, And the sun is s.h.i.+ning on Christmas day.

Over the hills of fair Lorraine-- Heaps of ashes and rows of slain.

Where merrily rang the light guitar, The angry trump of the red hussar

Flings on the midnight's shrinking breath, The direful notes of the Dance of Death!

Underneath the cl.u.s.tered vines, The sentry's glittering saber s.h.i.+nes.

Over the banks of the blue Moselle, Rain of rocket and storm of sh.e.l.l!

Where to-day is the forehead fair, Crowned with ma.s.ses of midnight hair?

A summer's twilight saw him fall, Dead on Verdun's leaguered wall.

Where, alas! is the little cot?

Ask the blackened walls of Gravelotte!

Under the lilac broods alone A maid whose heart is turned to stone.

Who sits, with folded fingers, dumb, And meekly prays that her time may come!

Yet see! the Death-G.o.d's baleful star!

And War's black eagle screams afar!

And lo! the Christmas shadows wane Over the hills of sad Lorraine.

_Quarterly_, 1873.

IN ANSWER

"S."

And thou didst idly dream, Or, careless of thy action, think, To cast a veil o'er all the past And weld anew the broken link?

Vain thought to weave anew the bond That thou didst ruthless sever; Know friends.h.i.+p often turns to love, But love to friends.h.i.+p never.

And love ne'er dies but when some hand Too careless of their mimic strife, Slow cleaves its tendrils from their hold, And hurls them down bereft of life.

And love once fled can ne'er return, Nor in its stead can friends.h.i.+p stand, Nor twine again the tendrils frail, Nor e'er unites the broken band.

_Athenoeum_, 1875.

THE MYSTIC

"TROUBADOUR"

An early memory of my earliest youth.