My golden George—and shall a song, A song of grief be sung for thee— 'Twould go from lip to lip—ere long By careless lips profaned to be; Unhallow'd thoughts might soon defame The purity of woman's name.
Or shall I take thy picture fair, And fix that picture in my sleeve? Ah! time will soon the vestment tear, And not a shade, nor fragment leave: I'll give not him I love so well To what is so corruptible.
I'll write thy name within a book; That book will pass from hand to hand, And many an eager eye will look, But ah! how few will understand! And who their holiest thoughts can shroud From the cold insults of the crowd?[[19]] S. J. B.
XXXVI
THOUGHTS OF A MOTHER
Lo! a fir-tree towers o'er Sarajevo, Spreads o'er half the face of Sarajevo— Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo: Brothers and half-sisters there were seated; And the brother cuts a silken garment, Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:
"Brother's wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet! Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree? Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar, Or art thinking of my absent brother?"
To her brother thus the lady answer'd: "Golden-ring of mine! my husband's brother! Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming, Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar; Neither was I dreaming of my brother. I was thinking of my only mother, She with sugar and with honey reared me; She for me the red wine pour'd at even, And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin; In the morning milk, with spirit chasten'd So to give me cheeks of rose and lily; And with gentle messages she waked me, That her child might grow both tall and slender." S. J. B.