BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
It was a little, little page,
Was brought from far away,
To bear the great queen’s velvet train
Upon her bridal day.
His yellow curls were long and bright,
His page’s suit was blue,
With golden clasps at neck and knee,
And ruffles fair and new.
And faith, he was the smallest page
The court had ever known:
His head scarce reached the topmost step
That led up to the throne.
And oh, ’t was but a little lad
Had never been before
So many leagues from kin and friends,
And from his father’s door!
And oh!—’t was but a little child
Who never yet, I wis,
Had stolen lonely to his bed
Without his mother’s kiss.
He had not seen the noble queen,
Of whom his heart had fear;
He knew no friend at court to give
A welcome and good cheer.
It was the busy night before
The great queen’s wedding-day,
And all was bustle, haste, and noise,
And every one was gay;
And each one had his task to do,
And none had time to spare
To tend a weeping little page
Whose mother was not there.
Far in a big and gloomy room
Within the castle keep,
The little page lay all alone,
And wept, and could not sleep.