UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 BRUSHWOOD. 
 
 BY 
 
 T. BUCHANAN READ. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 FROM DESIGNS BY FREDERICK DIELMAN. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 LONDON: 16 SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1881. 
 BY J. B. LIPPIMCOTT & Co.
 
 PS 
 
 1 BRUSHWOOD.
 
 /^\N a weary slope of Apennine, 
 
 At sober dusk of day's decline, % 
 Out of the solemn solitude 
 Of Vallombrosa's antique wood, 
 A withered woman, tanned and 
 Bearing her bundled brushwood went, ^ 
 Poising it on her palsied head, 
 As if in penance for prayers unsaid.
 
 ~1 TER dull cheeks channelled were with tears, 
 
 Shed in the storms of eighty years; 
 Her wild hair fell in gusty flow, 
 White as the foamy brook below : 
 Still toiled she with her load alone, 
 With feeble feet but steadfast will, 
 To gain her little home, that shone 
 Like a dreary lantern on the hill.
 
 rriHE mountain child, no toil could tame, 
 
 With lighter load beside her came, "^ 
 Spake kindly, but its 
 
 accents fond 
 Were lost, soon lost on 
 
 the heights beyond. 
 
 There came the maid in 
 
 her glowing dress, 
 The wild-eyed witch of 
 
 the wilderness,
 
 Her brush-load shadowing her face, 
 Her upright figure full of grace, 
 Like those tall pines 
 
 whose only boughs 
 Are gathered round their 
 
 dusky brows : 
 Singing, she waved her 
 
 hand, " Good-night," 2 
 And round the mountain 
 
 passed from sight.
 
 Her brush-load shadowing her face, 
 Her upright figure full of grace, 
 Like those tall pines 
 
 whose only boughs 
 Are gathered round their 
 
 dusky brows : 
 Singing, she waved her 
 
 hand, " Good-night," -g 
 And round the mountain 
 
 passed from sight.
 
 climbed the laborers from their toil, 
 Brown as their own Italian soil; 
 Like Satyrs, some in goatskin suits, 
 Some bearing home the scanty fruits 
 Of harvest work, the swinging flasks 
 Of oil or wine, or little casks, 
 Under which the dull mule went 
 Cheered with its bell, and the echoes sent 
 From others on the higher height, 
 Saying to the vale, " Good-night," 
 "Good-night;" and still the withered dame 
 Slowly staggered on the same.
 
 TTERE, astride of his 
 braying beast, 
 
 I A brown monk came, 
 
 1 
 
 and then a priest; 
 Each telling to the shadowy air, 
 Perchance, his "Ave Maria" prayer; 
 For the sky was full of vesper showers, 
 Shook from the many convent towers, 
 Which fell into the woman's brain 
 Like dew upon an arid plain.
 
 These pious men be 
 side her rode, - 
 She crossed herself be 
 neath her load, 
 best she could, and 
 
 so " Good-night," 
 And they rode up 
 ward out of 
 
 sight. 
 
 r 
 3> - 
 
 ~| TOW far, how very far it seemed, 
 
 To where that starry taper gleamed, 
 Placed by her grandchild on the sill 
 Of the cottage window on the hill !
 
 Many a parent heart before, 
 
 Laden till it could bear no more, 
 
 Has seen a heavenward light that smiled, 
 
 And knew it placed there by a child ; 
 
 A long-gone child, whose anxious face 
 
 Gazed toward them down the deeps of space, 
 
 Longing for the loved to come 
 
 To the quiet of that home.
 
 OTEEPER and rougher grew the road, 
 Harder and heavier grew the load; 
 Her heart beat like a weight of stone 
 Against her breast. A sigh and moan 
 Mingled with prayer escaped her lips 
 Of sorrow, o'er sorrowing night's eclipse. 
 " Of all who pass me by," she said, 
 " There is never one to lend me aid ; 
 Could I but gain yon wayside shrine, 
 There would I rest this load of mine, 
 And tell my sacred rosary through, 
 And try what patient prayer would do."
 
 A GAIN she heard the toiling tread 
 
 Of one who climbed that way, and said, 
 " I will be bold, though I should see 
 A monk or priest, or it should be 
 The awful abbot, at whose nod 
 The frighted people toil and plod: 
 I'll ask his aid to yonder place, 
 Where I may breathe a little space, 
 And so regain my home." He came, 
 And, halting by the ancient darne, 
 Heard her brief story and request, 
 Which moved the pity in his breast; 
 And so he straightway took her load, 
 Toiling beside her up the road,
 
 Until, with heart that overflowed, 
 
 She begged him lay her bundled sticks 
 
 L. Close at the feet of 
 the crucifix. 
 
 OO down he set her 
 ? brushwood freight 
 Against the wayside 
 
 cross, and straight 
 She bowed her palsied 
 
 head to greet 
 And kiss the sculptured 
 
 Saviour's feet;
 
 And then and there she told her grief, 
 
 In broken sentences and brief. 
 
 And now the memory o'er her came 
 
 Of days blown out, like a taper flame, 
 
 Never to be relighted, when, 
 
 From many a summer hill and glen, 
 
 She culled the loveliest blooms to shine 
 
 About the feet of this same shrine; 
 
 But now, where once her flowers were gay, 
 
 Naught but the barren brushwood lay! 
 
 She wept a little at the thought, 
 
 And prayers and tears a quiet brought, 
 
 Until anon, relieved of pain, 
 
 She rose to take her load again.
 
 But lo ! the bundle of dead wood 
 Had burst to blossom ! and now stood 
 Dawning upon her marvelling sight, 
 Filling the air with odorous light! 
 
 nnHEN spake her traveller-friend: "Dear Soul, 
 
 Thy perfect faith hath made thee whole ! 
 I am the Burthen-Bearer, I 
 "Will never pass the o'erladen by. 
 My feet are on the mountain steep; 
 They wind through valleys dark and deep; 
 They print the hot dust of the plain, 
 And walk the billows of the main. 
 Wherever is a load to bear,
 
 My willing shoulder still is there ! 
 
 Thy toil is done !" He took her hand, 
 
 And led her through a May-time land; 
 
 "Where round her pathway seemed to wave 
 
 Each votive flower she ever gave 
 
 To make her favorite altar bright, 
 
 As if the angels, at their blight, 
 
 Had borne them to the fields of blue, 
 
 "Where, planted 'mid eternal dew, 
 
 They bloom, as witnesses arrayed 
 
 Of one on earth who toiled and prayed. 
 
 146436
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 Form L-9-35wi-8,'2*
 
 PS 
 2684 Read - 
 
 Brushwood 
 
 ^SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000120539 2