DAISY MAY.
A STORY OF CHRISTMASTIDE LONG AGO.
PART THE FIRST.
"Don't bolt the door, John," said the Dame,
Who sat esconced in oaken chair,
The good man paused, and back he came,
Silent, and with a troubled air.
"To night 'tis just a year ago
Since Daisy left," the mother sighed.
"Don't blame the child, I loved her so;
But better had our darling died."
The father spake not. Glistening bright
A tear stole down the mother's cheek.
"A year to-night! A year to-night!
I sometimes think my heart will break."
'Tis Christmas-eve, and in that cot
The good old couple grieve and yearn
For one, though absent, ne'er forgot:
"Don't bolt the door, she may return."
"She may return." The midnight chime
With mystic music fills the air,
And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time,"
In sobbing wavelets everywhere.
PART THE SECOND
Our village pride was Daisy May;
A fairy being, all too good
For earthly thought—as bright as day—
Just blooming into womanhood.