THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES DEDICATION : IATING THE EXCOCK.VGIXG SYMPATHY AM) KIN*I> INTEKEST MANIFESTED IX THIS WOliK Wm. F, MerriU AND Wm, , Cramer, IT IS MOST (.HATEFULLY DKDICAT KI> TO III KM I!Y THE A U Til OK. 762948 PREFACE. I'd rather have my verses win A place in common people's hearts; Who, toiling through the strife and din Of life's great thoroughfares and marts, May read some Hue my hand has penned : Some simple verse, not line, or grand, But what their hearts can understand, And hold me henceforth as a friend I'd rather win such quiet fame, Than by some line thought, polished so But those of learn-ed minds would know Just what the meaning of my song, To have the critics sound my name In high-flown phrases, loud and long. I sing not for the critics ear, But for the masses. If they hear .Despite the turmoil, dm, and strife, Some least low note that gladdens life, I shall be wholly satisfied, Though critics to the end deride. E. W. ID MA URINE, Part First, !> " Part Second, . . . 21 " Part Third, . :$<> " Part Fourth, - . . -y; " Part Fifth, . . ys " Part Sixth, . 99 " . Part Seventh, . . u<; SOUL OF AMERICA, . us THE GOSSIPS, - . i.-,i MOTHER LOSS, . 154 NOW THE DAYS ARE GROWING I.oXGKR, . . i-y; ALL THE WORLD, . I.-.7 RIVER AND SEA, - - l.Vi THE COMMON PEOPLE, . . KJO OUR BLESSINGS, - . . 16:5 A FRAGMENT, - ... KU MISJUDGED, - . . iisr> THE MANIAC, - . . |<;7 THE CHANGE, . 1159 RELICS, . . . 17 1 THE DREAMER, . . . 173 NORINE, . ]74 FLOWN AAV AY, - . 177 THE WORLD, . . ]7! A POEM, - . ]S[ LOST, . . 134 UPON THE WAY, . . i$ 7 MY VISION, - . ISM RESIGNED, - . . is),, TWO JUNES, - . . i!t- BLESS THE BABIES, . . 1114 SLANDER, - ... ].,,; THE VOLUPTUARY, . 797 PRINCE OF THE AVALTXERS, . net AN OLD MAN'S VIEW, .... ooi DYING YEAR. - ... . op;; PLEA TO SCIENCE, . . >- TAVO SEASONS, - . . o ()7 OCKSTIONING, .... . JOT | THE CHERUB YEAR, - ... o u SAVEETHEART, . .">,<, MY LADY, . . . r,|" ( THE BELLE OF THE SEASON, - THREE AND ONE, . . .">,,, THROUGH TEARS, ' - ... ~>->i MYSELF, - ... .j.].; MAURINE. PART FIRST. I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune. 0, beauteous was that morn in early June ! Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair : The climbing rose-tree grew about me there, And checked with shade the sunny portico Where, morns like this, L came to read, or se\v I heard the 1 gate click, and a firm quick tread Upon the walk. Xo need to turn my head ; I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding, Before A/* step upon the gravel bounding. In an unstudied attitude of grace, He stretched his comely form ; and from his tare He tossed the dark, damp curls, and loosed his collar. Baring his full, grand neck, for winds to kiss. With one white perfect hand. Alone by this You'd mark him as a poet and a scholar. There, leaning on his elbow, at my knees. 10 MAURINE. With his broad hat he fanned the lazy breeze. And turned his head, and lifted his large eyes, Of that strange hue we see in ocean dyes, And call it blue sometimes, and sometimes green, And save in poet-eyes, not elsewhere seen. " Lest I should meet with my fair lady's scorning, For calling quite so early in the morning, I've brought a passport that can never fail," He said, and, laughing, laid the morning mail Upon my lap. "I'm welcome? so I thought! I'll figure by the letters that I brought How glad you are to see me. Only one? And that one from a lady? I'm undone! That, lightly skimmed, you'll think me such a bore, And wonder why I did not bring you four. It's ever thus : a' woman can not get So many letters that she will not fret O'er one that did not come." "I'll prove you wrong," I answered gayly, "here upon the spot! This little letter, pre'cious if not long, Is just the one, of all you might have brought, To please me. You have heard me speak, I'm sure, Of Helen Trevor : she writes here to say She's coming out to see me ; and will stay 'Till Autumn, maybe. She is, like her note, Petite and dainty, tender, loving, pure. You'd know her, by a letter that she wrote, MAURINE. 11 For a sweet tinted thing. 'Tis alway so : Letters all blots, though finely .written, show A slovenly person. Letters stiff, and white Bespeak a nature, honest, plain, upright. And tissuey, tinted, perfumed notes, like this, Tell of a creature formed to pet, and kiss." My list'ner heard me with a slow, odd smile ; Stretched in abandon at my feet, the while, He fanned me idly with his broad-brimmed hat. " Then all young ladies must be formed for that ! " He laughed, and said. "Their letters read, and look, As like as twenty copies of one book. They're written in a dainty, spider scrawl, To 'darling, precious Kate,' or 'Fan,' or 'Moll.' The 'dearest, sweetest' friend they ever had. They say they ' want to see you, oh so bad ! ' Vow they'll ' forget you, never, ncrer, oh ! ' And then they tell about a splendid beau A lovely hat a charming dress, and send A little scrap of this to every friend. And then to close, for lack of something better, They beg you'll 'read and burn this horrid letter.'' lie watched me, smiling. He was prone to vex And hector me with flings upon my sex. Me liked, he said, to have me flash, and frown ; 12 MAURINE. So he could tease me, and then laugh me down. My storms of wrath amused him very much : He liked to see me go off at a touch ; Anger became me made my color rise, And gave an added lustre to my eyes. So he would talk and so he watched me now, To see the hot flush mantle cheek and brow. Instead, I answered coolly, with a smile, Felling a seam with utmost care, meanwhile, " The caustic tongue of Vivian Dangerfield Is barbed, as ever, for my sex, this morn. Still unconvinced, no smallest point I yield. Woman I love, and trust, despite your scorn. There is some truth in what you say ? Well, yes ! Your statements usually hold more or less. Some women write weak letters (some men do ;) Some 'make professions, knowing them untrue. And woman's friendship, in the time of need, I own, too often proves a broken reed. But I believe, and ever will contend, Woman can be a sister woman's friend, (Jiving from out her large heart's bounteous store A living love-y-claiming to do no more Than, through and by that love, she knows she can : And living by her professions, like n. nrni. And such a tie, true friendship's silken tether, Binds Helen Trevor's heart and mine together. I love her for her beauty, meekness, grace ; MAURINE. 13 For her white lily soul and angel face. She loves me, for my greater strength, may be ; Loves and would give her heart's best blood for me. And I, to save her from a pain, or cross, Would suffer any sacrifice or loss. Such can be woman's friendship For another. Could man give more, or ask more from a brother?" I paused : and Vivian leaned his massive head Against the pillar of the portico, .Smiled his slow, skeptic smile, then laughed, and said : " Nay, surely not if what you say be so. You've made a statement, but no proof's at hand. AVait do not flash your eyes so ! Understand I think you quite sincere in all you say : You love your friend, and she loves you, to-day ; But friendship is not friendship at the best Till circumstances put it to the test. Man's, less demonstrative, stands strain and tear, While woman's, half profession, fails to wear. Two women love each other passing well Say Helen Trevor and Maurine La Pelle, Just for example. Let them daily meet At ball and concert, in the church and street, They kiss and coo they visit, chat, caress ; Their love increases, rather than grows less ; And all goes well, till 'Helen, dear' discovers That 'Maurine, darling' wins too many lovers. 14 MAURINE. And then her 'precious friend,' her 'pet,' her ' sweet, * Becomes a 'minx,' a 'creature all deceit.' Let Helen smile too oft on Maurine's beaux, Or wear more stylish or becoming clothes, Or sport a hat that has a longer feather And lo ! the strain 'has broken 'friendship's tether.' Maurine's sweet smile becomes a frown or pout ; ' She's just begun to find that Helen out.' The breach grows wider anger fills each heart ; They drift asunder, whom ' but death could part.' You shake your head ? Oh, well, Ave'll never know ! It is not likely Fate will test you so. You'll live, and love ; and, meeting twice a year, AVhile life shall last, you'll hold each other dear. I pray it may be so ; it were not best To shake your faith in woman by the test. Keep your belief, and nurse it while you can. I've faith in woman's friendship too for man ! They're true as steel, as mothers, friends, and wives : And that's enough to bless us all our lives. That man's a selfish fellow, and a bore, Who is unsatisfied, and asks for more." " But there is need of more ! " I here broke in. " I hold that woman guilty of a sin, Who would not cling to, and defend another, As nobly as she would stand by a brother. Who would not suffer for a sister's sake, And, were there need to prove her friendship, make MAURINE. 15 'Most any sacrifice, nor count the cost. Who would not do this for a friend is lost To every nobler principle." " Shame, shame ! " Cried Vivian, laughing, " for you now defame The whole sweet sex : since there's not one would do The thing you name, nor would I want her to. I love the sex. My mother was a woman I hope my wife will be, and wholly human. And if she wants to make some sacrifice, I'll think her far more sensible and wise To let her husband reap the benefit, Instead of some old maid or senseless chit. Selfish ? Of course ! I hold all love is so : And I shall love my wife right well, I know. Now there's a point regarding selfish love, You thirst to argue with me, and disprove. But since these cosy hours will soon be gone, And all our meetings broken in upon, No more of these rare moments must be spent In vain discussion, or in argument. I wish Miss Trevor was in Jericho ! (You see the selfishness begins to show.)' She wants to see you? So do I : but she Will gain her Avish, by taking you from me. 'Come all the same?' that means I'll be allowed To realize that three can make a crowd. I do not like to feel myself (k trop. With two girl cronies would I not be so? * My ring would interrupt some private chat. 16 MAURINE. You'd ask me in, and take my cane and hat, And speak about the lovely summer day, And think 'The lout! I wish he'd kept away.' Miss Trevor 'd smile, but just to hide a pout, And count the moments till I was shown out. And, while I twirled my thumbs, I should sit wishing That I had gone off hunting birds, or fishing. No, thanks Maurine ! The iron hand of Fate, (Or otherwise Miss Trevor's dainty fingers,) AVill bar my entrance into Eden's gate ; And I shall be like some poor soul that lingers At heaven's portal, paying the price of sin, Yet hoping to be pardoned and let in." He looked so melancholy sitting there, I laughed outright. " How well you act a part ; You look the very picture of despair ! You've missed your calling, sir ! suppose you start Upon a starring tour, and carve your name With Booth's and Forrest's on the heights of Fame. But now, tabooing nonsense, I shall send For you to help me entertain my friend, Unless you come without it. ' Cronies ' ? True, Wanting our ' private chats ' as cronies do. And we'll take those, while you are reading Greek, Or writing 'Lines to Dora's brow,' or 'cheek.' But when you have an hour or two of leisure, Call as *you now do, and afford like pleasure. For never yet did heaven's sun shine on, MAURINE. 17 Or stars discover, that phenomenon, In any country, or in any clime : Two maids so bound, by ties of mind and heart, They did not feel the heavy weight of time In weeks of scenes wherein no man took part. God made the sexes to associate : Nor law of man, nor stern decree of Fate, Can ever undo what His hand has done, And, quite alone, make happy either one. My Helen is an only child : a pet Of loving parents : and she never yet Has been denied one boon for which she pleaded. A fragile thing, her lightest wish was heeded. AVould she pluck roses? they must first be shorn, By careful hands, of every hateful thorn. And loving eyes must scan the pathway where Her feet may tread, to see 110 stones are there. -She'll grow dull here, in this secluded nook, Unless you aid me in the pleasant task Of entertaining. Drop in with your book Read, talk, sing for her sometimes. What I ask, Do once, to please me : then there'll be no need For me tq state the case again, or plead. There's nothing like a woman's grace and beauty To waken mankind to a sense of duty." " I bow before the mandate of my queen : Your slightest wish is law, Ma Belle Maurine," He answered smiling. " I'm at your command ; 18 MAURINE. Point but one lily finger, or your wand, And you will find a willing slave obeying. There goes my dinner bell ! I hear it saying I've spent two hours here, lying at your feet, Not profitable, may be surely sweet. All time is money : now were I to measure The time I spend here by its solid pleasure, And that were coined in dollars, then I've laid Each day a fortune at your feet, fair maid. There goes that bell again ! I'll say good-bye, Or clouds will shadow my domestic sky. Nothing will try a woman's temper, quite, Like trespassing upon her appetite. I'll come again, as you would have me do, And see your friend, while she is seeing you. That's like by proxy being at a feast ; Unsatisfactory, to say the least." He drew his fine shape up, and trod the land With kingly grace. Passing the gate, his hand He lightly placed the garden wall upon, Leaped over like a leopard, and was gone. , And, going, took some brightness from the place,. Yet left the June day with a sweeter grace, x And my young soul so steeped in happy dreams. Heaven itself seemed shown to me in gleams. MAURINE. There is a time, with lovers, when the heart First slowly rouses from its dreamless sleep, To all the tumult of a passion life, Ere yet have wakened jealousy and strife. Just as a young, untutored child will start Out of a long hour's slumber, sound and deep, And lie and smile with rosy lips, and cheeks, In a sweet trance, before it stirs or speaks. A time when yet no word the spell has broken, Save what the heart unto the soul has spoken, In quickened throbs, and sighs but half suppressed. A time when that sweet truth, all unconfessed, (Jives added fragrance to the summer flowers, A golden glory to the passing hours, A hopeful beauty to the plainest face, And lends to life a new and tender grace. When the full heart has climbed the heights of bliss, And, smiling, looks back o'er the golden past, I think it finds no sweeter hour than this In all love-life. For, later, when the last Translucent drop o'erflows the cup of joy, And love, more mighty than the heart's control, Surges in words of passion from the soul, And vows are asked and given, shadows rise Like mists before the sun in noonday skies, Vague fears, that prove the brimming cup's alloy : A dread of change the crowning moment's curse, Since what is perfect, change but renders worse : -20 MAURINE. A vain desire to cripple Time, who goes Bearing our joys away, and bringing woes. And later, doubts and jealousies awaken, And plighted hearts are tempest-tossed, and shaken. Doubt sends a test, that goes a step too far, A wound is made, that, healing, leaves a scar, Or, one heart, full with love's sweet satisfaction, Thinks truth once spoken, always understood, While one is pining for the tender action And whispered word by which, of old, 'twas wooed. But this blest hour, in love's glad, golden day, Is like the dawning, ere the radiant ray Of glowing Sol has burst upon the eye, But yet is heralded in earth and sky, "Warm with its fervor, mellow with its light, While Care still slumbers in the arms of night. But Hope, awake, hears happy birdlings sing, And thinks of all a summer day may bring. In this sweet calm, my young heart lay at rest, Filled Avith a blissful sense of peace ; nor guessed That sullen clouds were gathering in the skies To hide the glorious sun, ere it should rise. MAURINE. 21 f ART PECOND. To little birds that never tire of humming About the garden, in the summer weather, Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming, As we two roamed, or sat and talked together. Twelve months apart, we had so much to say Of school days gone and time since passed away : Of that old friend, and this ; of what we'd done ; Of how our separate paths in life had run ; Of what we would do, in the coming years ; Of plans and castles, hopes and dreams and fears. All this, and more, -as soon as we found speech, We touched upon, and skimmed from, this to that. But at the first, each only gazed on each, And, dumb with joy, that did not need a voice Like lesser joys, to say, u Lo ! I rejoice," With smiling eyes and clasping hands, we sat Wrapped in that peace, felt but with those most dear. Contented just to knoAV each other near. But when this silent eloquence gave place To words, 'twas like the rising of a flood Above a dam. We sat there, face to face, And let our tongues run on whate'er seemed good,. Speech never halting in its speed or zest, 22 MAURINE. Save when our rippling laughter let it rest ; Just as a stream will sometimes pause, and play About a bubbling spring, then dash away. No wonder, then, the third day's sun was nigh Up to the zenith when my friend and I Opened our eyes from slumber long and deep : Nature demanding recompense for hours Spent in the portico, among the flowers, Halves of two nights we should have spent in sleep. So this third day, we breakfasted at one : Then walked about the garden in the sun, Hearing the thrushes and the robins sing, And looking to see what buds were opening. Maidens delight in probing a flowers heart, And finding the hidden beauty of the whole, Just as they like, by skillful tact and art, To find the secret of some sister's soul. 'Tis woman-nature ! her first quen r , " Why ? " To answer which, she Uvses her quick eye. Why is one rose more drooping than the rest? She looks, and finds a worm gnaws at its breast. Why one so red? No reason she can sec, I'nlcss because it's favorite of the bee. And so she finds, through logic, skill and tact, Some reason for each sister's mood and act. Used as she uses it, among her bowers, Casting the worms out, lifting pallid flowers (Jiving them light and moisture, not revealing MAURINE. 23 What sweet, shy secret, red rose is concealing, Why, then, this probing but results in good, And answers the purpose God designed it should. The clock chimed three, and we yet strayed at will About the yard in morning dishabille, When Aunt Ruth came, with apron o'er her head, Holding a letter in her hand, and said " Here is a note, from Vivian I opine ; At least his servant brought it. And now girls, You may think this is no concern of mine, But in my day young ladies did not go, Till almost bed-time, roaming to and fro In morning wrappers, and with tangled curls, The very pictures of forlorn distress. 'Tis three o'clock, and time for you to dress. Come ! read your note and hurry in, Maurine, And make yourself fit object to be seen." Helen was bending o'er an almond bush, And ere she looked up I had read the note, And calmed my heart, that, bounding, sent a flush To brow and cheek, at sight of aught he wrote. " Ma Belle Maurine :" (so Vivian's billet ran,) " Isn't it time I saw your cherished guest ? ' Pity the sorrows of a poor young man ' Banished from all that makes existence blest. I'm dying to see your friend ; and I will come 24 MAURINE. And pay respects, hoping you'll be at home To-night at seven. Expectantly, V. D." Inside my belt I slipped the billet, saying, " Helen, go make yourself most fair to see : Quick ! hurry now ! no time for more delaying I In just four hours a caller will be here, And you must look your prettiest, my dear ! Begin your toilet right away. I know How long it takes you to arrange each bow To twist each curl, and loop your skirts aright. And you must prove you are au fait to-night, And make a perfect toilet : for our caller Is man, and critic, poet, artist, scholar, And views with eyes of all." " Oil, oh ! Maurine ! " Cried Helen with a well-feigned look of fear, " You've frightened me so I shall not appear : I'll hide away, refusing to be seen By such an ogre. Woe is me ! bereft Of all my friends, my peaceful home I've left, And strayed away into the dreadful wood To meet the fate of poor Red Riding Hood. No, Maurine, no ! you've given me such a fright, I'll not go near 3- our ugly wolf to-night." Meantime we'd left the garden ; and I stood In Helen's mom, where she had thrown herself MAURINE. 25 Upon a couch, and lay, a winsome elf, Pouting and smiling, cheek upon her arm, Xot in the least a portrait of alarm. "Now sweet!" I coaxed, kneeling by her, "he good! Go curl your hair ; and please your own Maurine, By putting on that lovely grenadine. Xot wolf, nor ogre, neither Caliban, Nor Mephistopheles, you'll meet to-night, But what the ladies call ' a nice young man ' ! Yet one worth knowing strong with health and might Of perfect manhood ; gifted, noble, wise ; Moving among his kind with loving eyes, And helpful hand ; progressive, brave, refined, After the image of his Maker's mind." " Now, now, Maurine ! " cried Helen, " I believe It is your lover coming here this eve. Why have you never written of him ? pray ! Is the day set? and when? Say, Maurine, say!" Had I betrayed by some too fervent word The secret love that all my being stirred? My lover ? Ay ! My heart proclaimed him so ; But first ///* lips must win the sweet confession, Ere even Helen be allowed to know, I must straightway erase the slight impression. Made by the words just uttered. 26 MAURINE. "Foolish child!" I gayly cried, " your fancy's straying wild. Just let a girl of eighteen hear the name Of maid and youth uttered about one time, And off her fancy goes, at hreak-neck pace, Defying circumstances, reason, space And straightway builds a romance so sublime It puts all Shakespeare's dramas to the shame. This Vivian Dangerfield is neighbor, friend And kind companion ; bringing books and flowers, And, by his thoughtful actions without end, Helping me pass some otherwise long hours ; But he has never breathed a Avord of love. If you still doubt me, listen while I prove My statement by the letter that he wrote. ' Dying to meet my friend ?' (she could not see The dash between that meant so much to me.) 'Will come this eve, at seven; hopes we may He in to greet him.' Now I think you'll say 'Tis not much like a lover's tender note. There go and 'fix'; and look your prettiest. A first impression's everything. Put on The dress I spoke of. I? Oh, I will don I don't know what ! The first thing that I touch There in my wardrobe. It won't matter much, For Vivian's seen me at my worst, and best." We laugh, we jest, not meaning what we say ; \\V hide our thoughts, by light words lightly spoken, MAURINE. 27 And pass on heedless, till we find one day They've bruised our hearts, and left some other broken. I sought my room, trilling some merry air ; Opened my wardrobe, wond'ring what to wear. Momentous question ! femininely human ! More than all others, vexing mind of woman, Since Eve first plucked the fig leaves, hesitating Before she used them mentally debating Whether palm leaves would not be more becoming. So at my wardrobe, I stood, lightly humming, All undecided what I should put on. At length I made selection of a lawn White, with a tiny pink vine overrun : My simplest robe, but Vivian's favorite one. (J-irding it with a ribbon-belt of rose. And placing a single flowret in my hair, I crossed the hall to Helen's chamber, where I found her overhauling all her clothes, Seeking the robe she wanted. " What ! all dressed ? " She cried, " I see you're just as spry as ever. Xow, Maurine, tell me why it is I never Can find my things right handily like you. I've lost my dress! you needn't laugh, it's true! Oh ! here it is, hanging behind the rest. Xow find my skirts, please, while I loop my curls, And I will call you just the best of girls." 28 MAURINE. 'Twas like a picture, or a pleasing play, To watch her make her toilet. She would stand, And turn her head first this, and then that way, Trying effect of ribbon, bow or band. Then she Avould pick up something else, and curve Her pretty neck, with cunning, bird-like grace, And watch the mirror while she put it on, With such a sweetly grave and thoughtful face ; And then to view it all would SAvay, and swerve Her lithe young body, like a graceful swan. Helen Avas over medium height, and slender Even to frailty. Her large, Avistful eyes Were like the deep blue of autumnal skies ; And through them looked her soul, large, loving, tender. Her long, light hair was lusterless, except Upon the ends, where burnished sunbeams slept, And on the ear-locks ; and she looped the curls Back Avith a shell comb, studded thick Avith pearls, Costly yet simple. Her pale loA T eliness, That night, Avas heightened by her rich, black dress. That trailed behind her, leaving half in sight Her taper arms, and shoulders marble Avhite. I Avas not tall as Helen, and my face Had the full contour of my grandsire's race; For through his veins my own received the warm. MAURINE. 29 Red blood of France, which rounded out my form, And glowed upon my cheek in crimson dyes, And bronzed my hair, and darkled in my eyes. And as the morning, trailing the skirts of night, And dusky night, stealing the garb of morn, (io hand in hand what time the day is born, So we two glided down the hall and stair, Ann clasping arm, into the parlor, where Sal Vivian, bathed in -sunset's gorgeous light. He rose to greet us. Oh ! his form was grand ; And he possessed that power, strange, occult, Called magnetism, lacking better word, Which moves the world, achieving great result Where genius fails completely. Touch his hand, It thrilled through all your being meet his eye, And you were moved, yet knew not how, or why. Let him but rise, you felt the air was stirred By an electric current. This strange force Is mightier than genius. Rightly used, It leads to grand achievements ; all things yield Before its mystic presence, and its field Is broad as earth and heaven. But abused, It sweeps like a poison simoon on its course, Bearing miasma in its scorching breath, And leaving all it touches struck with death. Far-reaching Science shall yet tear away The mystic garb that hides it from the day, 30 MAURINE. And drag it forth, and bind it with its laws, And make it serve the purposes of men, (iuided by common sense and reason. Then We'll hear no more of seance, table-rapping, And all that trash, o'er which the world is gaping, Lost in effect, Avhile Science seeks the cause. Vivian was not conscious of his power : < )r, if he was, knew not its full extent. lie knew his glance would make a wild beast cower, And yet he knew not that his large eyes sent Into the heart of woman the same thrill That made the lion servant of his will. And even strong men felt it. He arose, Readied forth his hand, and, in it, clasped my own, While I held Helen's ; and he spoke some word Of pleasant greeting in his low, round tone, Unlike all other voices I have heard. Just as the white cloud, at the sunrise, glows With roseate colors, so the pallid hue Of Helen's cheek, like tinted sea-shells grew. Through mine, his hand caused hers to tremble : such Was the all-mast'ring imunc of his touch. Then we sat down, and talked about the weather, The neighborhood some author's last new book. MAURINE. 31 But, when I could, I left the two together To make acquaintance, saying, I must look After the chickens my especial care ; And ran away, and left them, laughing, there. Knee-deep, through clover, to the poplar grove, I waded, where my pets were wont to rove : And there I found the foolish mother hen Brooding her chickens underneath a tree, An easy prey for foxes. "Chick a dee." Quoth I, while reaching for the downy things That, chirping, peeped from out the mother-wings, "How very human is your folly! When There waits a haven, pleasant, bright, and warm, And one to lead you thither from the storm And lurking dangers, yet you turn away, And, thinking to be your own protector, stray Into the open jaws of death : for, see! An owl is sitting in this very tree You thought safe shelter. Go now to your pen." And, followed by the clucking, clam'rous hen, So like the human mother here again, Moaning because a strong, protecting arm Shielded her little ones from cold and harm, I carried back my garden hat brim full Of chirping chickens, like white balls of wool, And snugly housed them. And just then I heard A sound like gentle winds among the trees, 32 MAURINE. Or pleasant waters, in the Summer, stirred And set in motion by a passing breeze. 'Twas Helen singing : and, as I drew near, Another voice, a tenor full and clear, Mingled with hers, as murmuring streams unite, And flow on stronger in their wedded might. It was a way of Helen's, not to sing The songs that other people sang. She took Sometimes an extract from an ancient book ; Again some floating, fragmentary Jhing, And such she fitted to old melodies, Or else composed the music. One of these She sang that night ; and Vivian caught the strain, And joined her in the chorus, or refrain. SONG. O thou, mine other, stronger jm-t ! Whom yet I cannot hear, or see, Come thou, and take this loving heart, That longs to yield its all to thee, I call mine own Oh come to me ! 1-ove, answer back, I come to thee, I come to thee. This hungry heart, so warm, so large, Is far too great a care for me. I have grown weary of the charge MAURINE. 33 I keep so sacredly for thee. Come thou, and take my heart from me. Love, answer back, I come to thee, I come to thee. I am aweary, waiting here For one who tarries long from me. O ! art thou far, or art thou near ? And must I still be sad for thee? Or wilt thou straigiitway come to me? Love, answer, I am near to thee, I come to thee. The melody, so full of plaintive chords, Sobbed into silence, echoing down the strings Like voice of one who walks from us, and sings. Vivian had leaned upon the instrument The while they sang. But, as he spoke those words, " Love, I am near to thee, I come to thee," He turned his grand head slowly round, and bent His lustrous, soulful, speaking gaze on me. And my young heart, eager to own its king, Sent to my eyes a great, glad, trustful light, Of love and faith, and hung upon my cheek Hope's rose-hued flag. There was no need to speak. I crossed the room, and knelt by Helen. "Sing That song you sang a little of one night, Out on the porch, beginning ' Praise me not,' " I whispered : and her sweet and plaintive tone Rose, low and tender, as if she had caught From some sad passing breeze, and made her own, 34 MAURINE. The echo of the wind-harp's sighing strain, Or the soft music of the falling rain. SONG. O praise me not with your lips, dear one! Though your tender words 1 prize. But dearer by far is the%oulful gaze, Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes, Your tender, loving eyes. O chide me not with your lips, dear one! Though I cause your bosom sighs. You can make repentance deeper far By your sad, reproving eyes, Your sorrowful, troubled eyes. Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds; Above, in the beaming skies, The constant stars say never a worxl, But only smite with their eyes Smile on with their lustrous eyes. Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one ; On the wing-ed wind, speech flies. But I read the truth of your noble heart In your soulful, speaking eyes In your dee]) find beautiful eyes. The twilight darkened 'round us, in the room, While Helen sang ; and, in the gath'ring gloom. Vivian reached out, and took my hand in his, MAURINE. 35 And held it so ; while Helen made the air Languid with music. Then a step drew near, And voice of Aunt Ruth broke the spell ; "Dear! dear! Why Maurie, Helen, children ! how is this? I hear you, but you have no light in there. Your room is dark as Egypt. What a way For folks to visit ! Maurie, go, I pray, And order lamps." And so there came a light, And all the sweet dreams hovering 'round The twilight shadows flitted in. affright: And e'en the music had a harsher sound. In pleasant converse passed an hour away : And Vivian planned a picnic for next day A drive the next, and rambles without end, That lie might help me entertain my friend. And then he rose, bowed low, and passed from sight, Like some great star that drops out from the night ; And Helen watched him through the shadows go. And turned and said, her voice subdued and IOAV, " How tall he is ! in all my life, Maurine, A grander man I never yet have seen." 36 MAURINE. PART THIRD. One golden twelfth-part, of a checkered year : One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth, AVith not a hint of shadows lurking near Or storm clouds brewing. 'Twas a royal day : Voluptuous July, held her lover, Earth, With her warm arms, upon her glowing breast, And twined herself about him, as he lay Smiling and panting in his dream-stirred rest. She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace. And hid him with her trailing robe of green, And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen, And rained her ardent kisses on his face. Through the glad glory of the summer land Helen and I went wand'ring, hand in hand. In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat field, White, with the promise of a bounteous yield, Across the late shorn meadow down the hill Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till \Ve stood upon the borders of the lake That like a pretty, placid infant slept Low at its base : and little ripples crept Along its surface, just as dimples chase MAURINE. 37 Each other, o'er an infant's sleeping face. Helen in idle hours had learned to make A thousand pretty, feminine knick-knacks : For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands Labor just suited to her dainty hands. That morning she had been at work in wax, Moulding a wreath of flowers for my room, Taking her patterns from the living blows In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose, And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch, Resembling the living plants, as much As life is copied in the form of death : These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath. And now the wreath was all completed, save The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom, A water lily, dripping from the wave. And 'twas in search of it that we had come Down to the lake, and wandered on the beach Ti sec if any lilies grew in reach. Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been; Some buds, with all their beauties folded in, We found, but not the treasure that AVC sought. And then we turned our footsteps to the spot Where all impatient of its chain, my boat i( The 8 wan " rocked, asking to be set afloat. It was a dainty row boat strong yet light ; Kadi side a swan was painted snowy white : 38 MAURINE. A present from my uncle, just before He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand, Where freighted ships go sailing evermore, Hut none return to tell us of the land. I freed the "Swan," and slowly rowed about Wherever sea-weeds, grass, or green leaves lifted Their tips above the water. So we 'drifted While Helen, opposite, leaned idly out And watched for lilies in the waves below, And softly crooned some sweet and dreamy air That soothed me like a mother's lullabies. I dropped the oars, and closed my sun-kissed eyes. And let the boat go drifting here and there. <) happy day! the last of that brief time Of thoughtless youth, when all the world seems brighl, Ere that disguis-ed angel men call Woe Leads the sad heart through valleys dark as night, rp to the heights exalted and sublime. On each blest, happy moment, 1 am fain To linger long, ere I pass on to pain And sorrow that succeeded. From day dreams, As golden as the summer noon-tide's beams, F was awakened by a voice that cried. "Strange ship ahoy! Fair frigate, whither bound?" And, starting up, I cast my ga/e around, And saw a sail boat o'er the water glide Close to the "Swan," like some live thing of grace;. And from it looked the glowing, handsome face Of Vivian. MAURINE.. 39 " Beauteous sirens of the sea, Come sail across the raging main with me ! " He laughed ; and leaning, drew our drifting boat Beside his own. " There now ! step in ! " he said, " I'll land you anywhere you want to go My hoat is safer far than yours. I know : And much more pleasant with its sails all spread. The Swan? We'll take the oars, and let it float Ashore at leisure. You, Maurine, sit there Miss Helen here. Ye gods and little fishes! I've reached the height of pleasure, and my wishes. Adieu despondency ! farewell \o care ! What greater boon could man desire than this To skim the waters under balmy skies, Cheered by soft glances from two Houris' eyes, Fanned by sweet winds? Oh ecstasy of bliss !" T\vns done so quickly : that was Vivian's way. He did not wait for either yea, or nay. He gave commands, and left you with no choice But just to do the bidding of his voice. His rare kind smile, low tones, and manly face Lent to his quick imperiousness a grace And winning charm, completely stripping it Of what might otherwise have seemed unfit. Leaving no trace of tyranny, but just Tli at nameless force that seemed to say, "You must/' 40 MAURINE. Suiting its pretty title of " The Dawn," (So named, he said, that it might rhyme with " Swan,") Vivian's sail boat, Avas carpeted with blue, While all its sails were of a pale rose hue. The daintiest craft that flirted with the breeze : A poet's fancy in an hour of ease. Whatever Vivian had was of the best. His room was like some Sultan's in the east. His board was always spread as for a feast. Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest. He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine At his own table if 'twere illy set. He so loved things artistic in design Order, and beauty, all about him. Yet So kind he was, if it befell his lot To dine within the humble peasant's cot, He made it seem his native soil to be, And thus displayed the true gentility. Under the rosy banners of the " Dawn," Around the lake we drifted on, and on. It was a time for dreams, and not for speech. And so we floated on in silence, each Weaving the fancies suiting such a day. Helen leaned idly o'er the sail boat's side, And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide ; And I, among the cushions half reclined, MAURINE. 41 Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play, While Vivian with his blank-hook, opposite, In which he seemed to either sketch or write, Was lost in inspiration of some kind. No time, no change, no scene can e'er efface My mind's impression of that hour, and place : It stands out like a picture. O'er the years, Black with their robes of sorrow veiled with tears, Lying with all their lengthened shapes between, Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scene. Just as the last of Indian summer days, Perfect witli sunlight, crowned with amber ha/e. Followed by dark and desolate December, Through all the months of winter we remember. The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night While yet the day is full of golden light. We felt steal o'er us. Vivian broke the 1 spell of dream-fraught silence, throwing down his book : "Young ladies, please allow me to arrange These wraps about your shoulders. I. know well The fickle nature of our atmosphere, Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear And go prepared for changes. Now you look, l/ikc like oh, where 's a pretty simile? 42 MAURINE. Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see How well my native talent is displayed In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid ; Blue on the blonde and quite without design. (Oh where ?'* that comparison of mine !) Well- like a June rose and a violet In one bouquet! Will that do for a start? You know I'm but a novice in the art Of complimenting. Please do not forget My maiden effort of this afternoon. And now I crave your patience, and a boon ! Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme, A floating fancy of the Summer time. It's neither witty, wonderful, nor wise. So listen kindly but don't criticize : If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, All well! the harbor could not hold So many sails as there would be Tf all my ships came in from sea. If half my ships came home from sea, And brought their precious freight to me, Ah well! I should have wealth as great As any king, who sits in state So rich the treasures that would be In half my ships now out at sea. If just one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the storm clouds then might frown MAURINE. 43 For if the others all wont down still rich and proud and glad I'd be, If that one .ship came back to me. If that, one ship went down at sea, And all the others came to me, Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, With glory, honors, riches, gold, The poorest .soul on earth I'd be If that one ship came not to me. O skies be calm ! O winds blow free ! Blow all my ships safe home to me. I'ut if thou sendest some a-wrack! To never more come sailing back, Send any all, that skim the sea, .But bring my love-ship home to me. Helen was leaning by me, and 'her head Rested against my shoulder : as he read, I stroked her hair, and watched the fleecy skies. And, when he finished, did not turn my eyes. I felt too happy and too shy to meet Ifis gaze just then. I said' " 'Tis very sweel. And suits the day ; doesn't it, Helen, dear?" But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear. '"Tis strange 1 ," I added, "how you poets sing- So feelingly about the very thing You care not for! and dress up an ideal So well, it looks a living, breathing real! Now, to a listener, your love song seemed A hearts out-pouring : yet I've heard you say Almost the opposite; or that you deemed 44 MAURINE. Position, honor, glory, power, fame, ( Gained without loss of conscience or good name, The things to live for." "Have you? Well, you may "- Laughed Vivian, " but 'twas years or months ago ! And Solomon says wise men change, you know ! I now speak truth ! if she I hold most dear, Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would, find the years more lonely here, Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends bereft, And sent an exile to a foreign land." His voice was low, and measured : as he spoke New, unknown chords of melody awoke Within my soul. I felt my heart expand AVith that sweet fullness born of love. I turned To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned, And leaning over Helen, breathed her name. She lay so motionless 1 thought she slept : lint, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose, And o'er her face a sudden glory swept, And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame, "Sweet friend," I said, "your face is full of light : What were the dreams that made vour eves so bright ?" She only smiled for answer, and arose From her reclining posture at my side, Threw back the clustVina' rinu'lets from her face MAURINE. 45 With a quick gesture, full of easy grace, And, turning, spoke to Vivian. " Will you guide The boat up near that little clump of green Off at the right? There's where the lilies grow. We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine, And our few moments have grown into hours. What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so? There that will do now I can reach the flowers." " Hark ! just hear that !" and Vivian broke forth singing "Row, brother, row." "The six o'clock bell 's ringing ! Who ever knew three hours to go so fast En all the annals of the world, before ! I could have sworn, not over, one had passed. Young ladies, I am forced to go ashore ! I 'm loth to name the reason, which has not As much of romance as this hour and spot. But truth is truth : our supper tables wait Romance must yield to appetite and Fate. I thank you for the pleasure you have given ; This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven. Good night sweet dreams ! and by your gracious leave, I'll pay my compliments to-morrow eve." A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way : And, in the waning glory of the day. 4(> MAURINE. Down cool green lanes?, and through the length'ning shadows, Silent, we wandered back across the meadows. The wreath was finished, and adorned my room ; Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom. NVas like a horrid spectre in my sight, Staring upon me. morning, noon and night. The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up, And passed before me, like an empty cup The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss, And gives His children., saying "drink of this. v A light wind, from the open casement, fanned My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand, Sat looking out upon the twilight scene, In dreamy silence. Helen's dark blue eyes, Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies Some night adown the meteor's shining track. And always had been grieving to go back, Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven'^ dome And seemed to recognize, and long for home. Her sweet voice broke the silence. "Wish, Maurine. Before you speak ! you know the moon is new. And any thing you wish for will come true MAURINE. Before it wanes. I do believe the sign ! Niw tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine." I turned and looked up at the slim young moon ; And, with an almost superstitious heart, i sighed, "O, new moon! help me by thine art To grow all grace and goodness, and to be \Vorthy the love a true heart proffers me/' Then smiling down, I said " Dear one ! my boon I fear is quite too silly or too sweet For my repeating : so we'll let it stay Between the moon and me. But if I may I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please !" All suddenly she nestled at my feet, And hid her blushing face upon my knees. Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek, * And, leaning on my breast began to speak, Half sighing out the words my tortured ear Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear. "Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine? Oh my sweet friend ! you must ere this have seen The love I tried to cover from all eyes And from myself. O, foolish little heart ! As well it might go seeking for some art \Vherebv to hide the sun in noon-dav skies. 48 MAUR;NE. When first the strange sound of his voice I heard, Looked on his noble face, and touched his hand, My slumb'ring heart thrilled through and through. and stirred As if to say ' I hear, and understand.' And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding The inner beauty of his life, unfolding Jn countless words and actions, that portrayed The noble stuff of which his soul was made. And more and more I felt my heart upreaching After the truth, drawn gently by his teaching, As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew At length was love, because it was so sad And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad, Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, Lest all should read my secret and its name, I strove to hide it in my breast away Where (uxt could see it only. But each day It seemed to grow within me, and would rise Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes. Defying bonds of silence ; and would speak In its red-lettered language on my cheek If but his name was uttered. You were kind, My own Maurine ! as you alone could be, So long the sharer of my heart and mind, Wliile yet you saw, in seeming not to see. In all the years we have been friends, my own. And loved as women, very rarely do, My heart no -sorrow and no joy has known MAURINE. 49 It has not shared at once, in full, with you. And I so longed to speak to you of this, When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss ; Yet dared not, lest, you, knowing him, should say, In pity for my folly ' Lack a-day ! You are undone : because no mortal art Can win the love of such a lofty heart.' And so I waited, silent and in pain, Till I could knoAv I did not love in vain. And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear. Did he not say, 'If she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope was left, My heart would find the years more lonely here, Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends bereft, And sent an exile to a foreign land?' Oh, darling! you must lore to understand The joy that thrilled all through me at those Avords. It was as if a thousand singing birds Within, my heart broke forth hi notes of praise. I did not look up, but I knew his gaze Was on my face, and that his eyes must see The joy I felt almost transfigured me. He loves me loves me ! so the birds kept singing. And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing. If there were added but one drop of bliss, No more my cup would hold : and so this eve F made a wish that I might feel his kiss Uptfii my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave The stars all lonely, having waned away, Too old and weak and bowed with care to stav.'' .50 MAURINE. Her voice sighed into silence. While she spoke My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease. Each word she littered falling like a stroke On my hare soul. And now a hush like death. Save that 'twas broken by a quick drawn breath. Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace. For when the lash no longer leaves its blows, The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows. She nestled on my bosom like a child. And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild \Vith pain and pity. She had told her tale Her self-deceiving story to the end. How could I look down on her as she lay So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail A tender blossom on my breast, and say " Nay, yon are wrong you do mistake, dear friend ! Tis 1 am loved, not you." Yet that were truth And she must know it later. . Should 1 speak, And spread a ghastly pallor o'er the cheek Flushed now with joy? And while I, doubting, pondered, She spoke again. " Mauri ne ! I oft have wondered \Vhy you and Vivian were not lovers. He Is all a heart could ask its king to be ; And you have beauty, intellect and youth. I think it strange you have not loved each other Strange how he could pass by you for another MAURINE. 51 Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know A loving Father pre-arranged it so. I think my heart has known him all these years. And waited for him. And if when he came It had been as the lover of my friend, I should have recognized him, all the same. As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end. Hiding my grief, and forcing hack my tears Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day, rnseen they fell, and wore it all away. And so a tender Father kept him free, With all the largeness of his love, for me For me, unworthy such a precious gift ! Yet I will bend each effort of my life To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift My soul and spirit to his lofty height, So to deserve that holy name, his wife. Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight To breathe its long hid secret in your ear. Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear !" The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise To one great thought of mighty sacrifice And self denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek, And wrung my soul ; and from my heart it drove All life and feeling. Coward-like, I strove To send it from me : but I felt it cling And hold fast on my mind like some live thing ; And all the Self within me felt its touch 52 MAURINE. And cried, " No, no ! I cannot do so much I am not strong enough there is no call."- And then the voice of Helen bade me speak, And with a calmness born of nerve, I said, Scarce knowing what I uttered, " Sweetheart, all Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed. I thank you for your confidence, and pray I may deserve it always. But, dear one, Something perhaps our boat-ride in the sun, Has set my head to aching. I must go To bed directly ; and you will, I know. Grant me your pardon, and another day We'll talk of this together. Now good night, And angels guard you with their wings of light." [ kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, And viewed her as I ne'r had done before. I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er ; Marked her white tender face her fragile form, Like some frail plant that withers in the storm ; Saw she was fairer in her new found joy Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy (Jod's handiAvork, or leave it at the best A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?" I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, And sought my room, and found there such relief As s;id hearts feel when first alone with grief. MAURINE. 53 The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, And left the stars to watch away the night. ( ) stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene ! What depths of woe, your pitying eyes have seen ! The proud sun sets, and leaves us Avith our sorrow, To grope alone in darkness till the morrow. The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise, Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; ]>ut from the early gloaming till the day Sends golden liveried heralds forth to say I [e comes in might ; the patient stars shine on, Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn. And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, And watched the struggle of a God-like soul. Now from the same far height they shone on me, And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll. The storm had come upon me all unseen: No sound of thunder fell upon my ear ; \o cloud arose to tell me it was near : But under skies all sunlit, and serene, I floated with the current of the stream, And thought life all one golden haloed dream. When lo ! a hurricane, with awful force, Swept swift upon its devastating rourse, Wrecked my frail hark, and cast me on the wave Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave. Love makes us hlind and selfish : otherwise I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes ; r>4 MAURINE. So used I was to reading every look hi her sweet face, as I would read a book. But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays, I had gone on, unseeing, to the end. Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden ha/e That walled me in, and lo ! I found my friend Who journeyed with me at my very side, Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry. And then I sobbed, " God ! I would have died To save her this." And as I cried in pain, There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought Whore Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot As widely different from the heart's domain, As North from South the impulse felt before, And put away; but now it rose once more, In greater strength, and said "Heart, wouldst them prove What lips have uttered? Then go lay thy love On Friendship's altar, as thy offering." "Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing Ask life itself 'twere easier sacrifice. But ask not love, for that I cannot give." "But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies, And is no hero ! heroes dare to live Wlien all that makes life sweet is snatched away." So with my heart, in converse, till the day MAURINE. of) In gold and crimson billows, rose, and broke, The voice of Conscience, all unwearied spoke. Love warred with Friendship : heart Avith Conscience fo't, Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not. And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness, Sighed, "think how one, whose life thou Avert to bless Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear ! Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief? Can wrong make right?" "Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride And Time can heal the saddest hurts of love. While Friendship's wounds, gap Avide and yet more wide, And bitter fountains of the spirit prove." At length, exhausted with the Avearing strife. I cast the IICAV found burden of my life On God's broad breast, and sought that deep repose That only he Avho's AA^atched Avith sorrow knoAvs. MAURINE. PART FOURTH. 4 ' Maurine, Maurinc ! 'tis ten o'clock ! arise, My pretty sluggard ! open those dark eyes, And see where yonder sun is ! Do you know I made my toilet just four hours ago?" 'Twos Helen's voice : and Helen's gentle kiss Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss, I drew my weary self from that strange; sleep That rests not, nor refreshes. Scarce awake Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight Bound on my breast, as by a cruel Fate. I knew not why, and yet 1 longed to weep. Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day ; And, for a moment, in that trance I lay, When suddenly the truth did o'er me break, Like some great wave upon a helpless child. The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild, And God gave back the burden of the lite He kept what time I slumbered. MAURINE. 57 " You are ill," Cried Helen, " with that blinding headache still ! You look so pale and weary. Now let me Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to-day ! And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste, And bring it to you, with a cup of tea." And off she ran, not waiting my reply. But, wanting most the sunshine and the light, I left my couch, and clothed myself in haste, And, kneeling, went to God an earnest cry For help and guidance. " Show Thou me the way, Where duty leads ; for I am blind ! my sight Obscured by self. 0, lead my steps aright ! Help me to see the path : and if it may, Let this cup pass : and yet Thou heavenly One Thy will in all things, not mine own, be done." Rising, I went upon my way, receiving The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing. T felt that unseen hands were leading me, And knew the end was peace. "What! are you up?" Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup, Of tender toast, and fragrant smoking tea. "You naughty girl! you should have stayed in le