All anger from his face had fled,
His eyes with sweetness shone,
The maiden’s cheek went white, then red,
She stood as turned to stone.
Her lips they moved, as if to say
Some words to reach his ear,
But minutes pass, and still they stay
Pressed close as if with fear.
One moment more, and then he knelt
Low at her feet to ask
The blessing sweet, for still he felt
’Twould lighten all his task.
Her hand so small was stretched out there,
And laid between his own,
And while he held it, white and fair,
This maiden’s pride had flown.
He felt her trembling fingers move,
Yet low he humbly bent
Before her there to prove his love,
The while she grew content.
And then she spoke, he scarce could hear,
Her voice fell soft and sweet,
“Twas ‘Yes’ I meant, I cannot bear
To see you at my feet.”
THE VIOLET’S MESSAGE.
All radiant was the garden with choice and precious flowers;
Rare blossoms in their “houses” enwove resplendent bowers.
They were the rich man’s treasures, he gave them every care,
And yet the dew of heaven could never reach them there.
They did not feel the raindrops, or sunshine warmly bright,
Nor winced beneath the dangers of a cold and frosty night.
For all were closely tended and spared from every ill,
A gardener’s hand had planted each flower with dainty skill.
Now outside in the meadow, a modest violet grew,
And no one ever watched it, for no one ever knew;
Still there it lived and flourished, and scent of flowerets small
Was carried by the breezes across the high stone wall.
It reached the great man’s window, was wafted thro’ the door,
And made the air seem fresher than ever it was before.
It reached the great man’s heart, too, and whispered in his ear,
To tell a loving message, in accents sweet and clear.
He saw once more his birthplace and childhood’s happy years;
’Tis not a vision only, the brain both sees and hears.
There stands the old white cottage, long vanished from his sight,
He feels the cool wind blowing across the fields at night.
In waters of the streamlet that graced the woodland scene,
He seemed to see reflected the man he might have been.
He sighed, “O gentle violet, so tender and so true!
Of all my rich collection, not one compares with you.
Your coming here has taught me, how I may walk each day,
The paths where you are lovely in your sweet simple way.”
TO A FAR DISTANT FRIEND.
Eyes that are true,
Shadowed with blue,
Speak her sweet mind:
Out of her face,
Calm in its grace,
Looks the spirit behind.
Swift ocean tide,
Steep mountain side,
Stand now between:
Yet will my heart,
Sacred, apart,
Treasure days that have been.