Stories in Verse Part 3

There is one Blanche feareth-- She loves not deceit-- She only wisheth To dazzle his heart.

We promise to meet.

And separate depart.

XVII.

COMPARISONS.

The moon is like a shepherd with a flock of starry lambkins, The wind is like a whisper to the mountains from the sea, The sun a gold moth browsing on a flower's pearl-dusted pollen; But my words can scarcely utter what my love is like to me.

She is the sun in light's magnificence across my heart's day s.h.i.+ning, She's the moon when through the heavens of my heart flash meteor dreams; Her voice is fragrant south wind a silvery sentence blowing; She is sweeter than the sweetest, she is better than she seems.

XVIII.

AN INQUIRY OF THE s.e.xTON.

"s.e.xton, was she here to-day Who has met me oft before?

Did she come and go away, Tired of waiting any more?

For I fancy some mistake Has occurred about the time; Yet, the hour has not yet pa.s.sed; Hark! the bells begin to chime.

"In her hair two roses woo, One a white, and one a red.

Azure silk her dress might be, Though she oft wears white instead.

Here, beside this marble cross, Oft she kneels in silent prayer; Tell me, has she been to-day, In the church-yard anywhere?"

"No, the lady that you seek Has not pa.s.sed the gate to-day: I've been digging at a grave, And if she had come this way I'd have seen her from my work.

She may come to meet you yet.

I remember well her looks.

Names, not faces, I forget."

XIX.

A RIVAL.

It seems I have a rival Domiciled over the way; But Blanche, dear heart, dislikes him, Whatever her father may say-- This gorgeously broadclothed fellow, Good enough in his way.

To-day as I left the church-yard, I met them taking a ride, And my heart was pierced like a buckler With a javelin of pride; I only saw in my anger They were sitting side by side.

To-night, in the purple twilight, Blanche waited upon the walk, And beckoned her white hand to me-- A lily swayed on its stalk.

Soon my jealous pride was foundered In the maelstrom of talk.

'Twas useless to go to the church-yard, For some one had played the spy; She fancied it was the s.e.xton-- We would let it all go by; We now would have bolder meetings, 'Neath her father's very eye.

She took my arm as we idled, And talked of our love once more, And how, with her basket of flowers, She had pa.s.sed the street before; We tarried long in the moonlight, And kissed good-night at her door.

XX.

KISSES AND A RING.

I never behold the sea Rush up to the hand of the sh.o.r.e, And with its vehement lips Kiss its down-dropt whiteness o'er, But I think of that magic night, When my lips, like waves on a coast, Broke over the moonlit hand Of her that I love the most.

I never behold the surf Lit by the sun into gold, Curl and glitter and gleam, In a ring-like billow rolled, But I think of another ring, A simple, delicate band, That in the night of our troth I placed on a darling hand.

XXI.

AN ENEMY MAY BE SERVED, EVEN THROUGH MISTAKE, WITH PROFIT.

I was walking down the sidewalk, When up, with flying mane, Two iron-black steeds came spurning The ground in wild disdain; I caught them in an instant, And held them by the rein.

It seems the man had fainted In his elegant coupe; I saw his face a moment, And then I turned away, Wis.h.i.+ng my steps had led me Through other streets that day.

Some one who saw the rescue Afterward told him my name.

For the first in many a season, Beneath our roof he came.

I said I was deserving Little of praise or blame.

It was my uncle's face in the carriage; He made regret of the past; No more of my love or wishes Would he be the iconoclast; On a gala night at his mansion We should learn to be friends at last.

XXII.

HELIOTROPE.

Let my soul and thine commune, Heliotrope.

O'er the way I hear the swoon Of the music; and the moon, Like a moth above a bloom, s.h.i.+nes upon the world below.

In G.o.d's hand the world we know, Is but as a flower in mine.

Let me see thy heart divine Heliotrope.

Thy rare odor is thy soul, Heliotrope.

Could I save the golden bowl, And yet change my soul to yours, I would do so for a day, Just to hear my neighbors say: "Lo! the spirit he immures Is as fragrant as a flower; It will wither in an hour; Surely he has stol'n the bliss, For we know the odor is Heliotrope."

Have you love and have you fear, Heliotrope?

Has a dew-drop been thy tear?

Has the south-wind been thy sigh?

Let thy soul make mine reply, By some sense, on brain or hand, Let me know and understand, Heliotrope.

In thy native land, Peru, Heliotrope, There are wors.h.i.+ppers of light-- They might better wors.h.i.+p you; But they wors.h.i.+p not as I.

You must tell her what I say, When I take you 'cross the way, For to-night your petals prove The Devotion of my love, Heliotrope.

'Tis time we go, breath o' bee, Heliotrope.

All the house is lit for me; Here's the room where we may dwell, Filled with guests delectable.

Hark! I hear the silver bell Ever tinkling at her throat.

I have thought it was a boat, By the Graces put afloat, On the billows of her heart.

I have thought it was a boat With a bird in it, whose part Was a solitary note.

Now I know 'tis Heliotrope That the moonlight, bursting ope, Changed to silver on her throat.

Let us watch the dancers go; _She_ is dancing in the row.

Sweetest flower that ever was, I shall give you as I pa.s.s, Heliotrope.

KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN.

PART FIRST.

This is his story as I gathered it; The simple story of a plain, true man.