She really thought that she loved him well,
But she loved herself and children more,
And realized only when he fell
What all his friends had known before.
He had always hid his own distress,
And answered us with a brave "Not yet,"
For boys must play and girls must dress,
As do their mates in the social set.
At least she claimed that this was so,
And he too dearly loved them all
To spoil their place in the passing show,
And so rode on for a fatal fall.
He had earned enough for a simple life,
If only they a word had said,
So weary was he of the strife;
But they were dumb, and he … is dead!
Yes, he is gone, and they are here;
And now the purse he died to fill
Will keep them well for many a year,—
Of course submissive to "God's will"!
One victim more in the cruel race
With rivals he himself despised,
For children who can ne'er replace
The father whom they sacrificed.
UNDER THE PLANE TREE
Under my wall
And plane-tree tall
The lake's blue wavelets rise and fall;
In they creep,
Out they sweep,
And ever their rhythmic measure keep,
As the light breeze over the water steals,
And fills the sails of a score of keels.
Soft and low,
In the evening glow,
Murmurs the fountain's ceaseless flow;
Clear and sweet,
Fair and fleet,
It came from the mountain, the lake to meet,
And here, where ivy and roses twine,
Streamlet and lake their lives combine.
One by one,
In shade or sun,
Each river of life its course must run;
Slow or fast,
Small or vast,
All come to the waiting sea at last,—
The source from which they first arose,
The home in which they find repose.