A Day-Dream.
I’m looking in a mirror, Belle,
The mirror of our past;
And many a bright reflection, Belle,
Into its depth is cast;
Reflections that are calm and clear,
And O! to us so very dear.
I see a village--old Kirksville--
Its long and narrow street,
And as it climbs upon the hill,
How many friends I meet!
And, Belle, your face smiles out to me--
The sweetest face that I can see.
There is my home hid ’mong the trees
Back of the village street,
A welcome rushes on the breeze,
And restless grow my feet;
My heart leaps forward, and I view
The dearest spot I ever knew.
Home! home again! and, children, we
Skip through the pastures green;
Your eyes of blue I plainly see--
“The sweetest ever seen;”
And on your cheek the rosy tinge;
And curls of gold your temples fringe.
And see the dogs we used to pet;
Down through the lawn they run;
Not many passing by, forget
Their bark, or fail to shun
Old Carlo of the greyhound race,
And Lion with his vicious face.
Yet us they follow to the hedge,
Where hours with them we’ve played;
And to the pond, along whose edge,
Barefooted, we would wade.
Decorum could not cramp the brain,
And Love unlocked his golden chain.
We climb upon my father’s barn,
Hide in the straw and hay;
We watch aunt “Silvy” spinning yarn
In the old-fashioned way.
She tells us tales by candle light,
That fill our hearts with wild delight.
A shadow falls; I lose your face;
Lost is the fairy-tale;
And just before my eyes I trace
A kind of airy veil;
A network that is strangely planned,
Held by the Present’s cunning hand.
The shadow now has passed away;
I glance the meshes through,
And find strange children there at play
Beside your knee; one, two--
The little faces both foretell
A happy future for you, Belle.
Long, long I gaze. That pretty view
Dissolves away in air,
And still I’m looking, Belle, for you,
And still I’m standing there;
I strive your image to retrace--
All, all has vanished but my face.
And closing ’round me as before,
I see a figured wall,
A carpet blue upon the floor,
And sunlight over all.
Bewildered, yet entranced I seem,
And ’waken from a sweet day-dream.
The Old Ravine.
Just back of my dear old home it rolled,
With many a crumpled and rocky fold,
Hedged ’round with cherry and locust trees
Their strong arms toyed with the breeze--
Like knights arrayed for march or fight
They stood with waving plumes of white.
And O! that valley’s inmost room
Was a mass of ivy and violet bloom;
The larkspur shook from its purple crest
A dew-drop down on the lily’s breast;
The blue-bell dozed on the rivulet’s brink,
And the myrtle leaned o’er the edge to drink.
Even now, as I write, through the open door
I catch a sound of the cataract’s roar,
And see the girls just out from school
Knee-deep in the ravine’s limpid pool;
And the boys, ah, me! how plain can I see
Them stealing the bark from the slippery tree.
The door slams back, it is scarce apart;
With steady eye and fluttering heart,
I watch the girls up the valley turn,
In search of peppermint and fern;
And the boys are waving their caps to me,
As they stand in that ragged and torn old tree.
In some wild way, I never knew how,
I climbed to the swing on that elm tree’s bough;
Was twitt’ring a song as I used to do,
And counting the clouds in the sky’s soft blue,
When the girls came out from the valley’s shade,
And earth into heaven seemed then to fade.
’Twas the Eden of old, and I was a child
(I have thought of it since and often have smiled);
Sitting there in the swing, with the girls at my feet,
And the boys overhead--my joy was complete;
What a mockery, then, to awaken and part
With the happy illusion--how hollow my heart!
Some Day You’ll Wish for Me.