Glancing o’er a childish volume where sweet thoughts like blossoms
lay,
There between two oft read pages, a pressed wreath I found to-day.
Golden-rod and aster flowers lay with bloom all crushed and dead,
But a maple leaf among them still retained its gold and red.
In my hand I took the treasure, held it up before my face,
And the sunlight, then declining, solved its geometric grace.
Many a road and by-path meeting proved the interwoven veins;
And a forest rose before me, flaming like my window panes.
As a vision that is pictured by an angel in the night,
Soon a figure, sometime vanished, rose to my exultant sight.
Like a goddess of enchantment, there she stood beneath the trees,
And her face was like a lily, and her eyes like summer seas.
Then I thought, “For me she’s waiting”--so I glanced off to the
right,
For I feared it all a fancy, but I found my home in sight;
Heard the town-clock slowly striking, and the same familiar bells,
Saw the court-house and the churches, and “The Summit,” where she
dwells.
So I then no longer doubted, down a meadow path I strolled,
Leading off into the woodland that had stole the sunset’s gold.
Overhead the birds were flying, but a black winged happy throng
Paused; for we had been old comrades and they sang a farewell song.
But the thoughts that followed after, though the birds away had
flown,
Were so happy, for she met me, linked her arm within my own.
Up and down the path we wandered, gathering leaves and grasses
gray,
Until darkness drove the twilight o’er the hill where fled the day.
Darkness! and her face had vanished, all alone I seemed to stand,
But I heard her step departing, and I grasped again her hand.
Held it tight, and tighter pressing, in a happy strange belief,
Till I ’woke, and found that dreaming I had crushed my treasured
leaf.
A Gallop With Santa Claus.
I was thinking last night of the children
Far away in a home that I know,
Of the dear little girls at the window,
And the boys out at play in the snow;
Of the stockings hung up at the chimney,
Of the little hearts hopeful and glad;
And thus I kept thinking and thinking,
Until I grew homesick and sad.
So I turned my eyes out on the landscape,
As my thoughts were unwilling to go,
And I saw ’round the curve of a hillock
Three ponies come, white as the snow;
A sleigh next appeared and a driver,
Oh! my heart beat so fast then--because,
As he drew up the reins at the door-step,
I found it was old Santa Claus.
Such shaking of hands and such greetings
I fear I shall nevermore see;
For every big doll in his wagon
Was looking and laughing at me.
“No minutes to lose,” said old Santa,
“I’ve hundreds of miles yet to go.
Will you please to partake of my journey,
And gallop with me o’er the snow?”
No sooner than said I was seated,
All ’round me he folded the fur.
He made a loose rein for the ponies,
And urged them with whip and with spur.
Away and away o’er the country
We flew like the glances of light,
Down streets that were blazing with bonfires,
On, on through the snow and the night.
Then all of a sudden he halted
In front of a house old and dark.
There was no friendly ray at the window,
And on the hearth-stone not a spark.
But he entered, and, by a dim lantern
That swung from his new scarlet cap,
I saw the sad face of a woman
Asleep, and a babe on her lap.
And two pretty faces beside her,
A pillow of straw almost hid,
But the little hands looked as if frozen
That lay on the patched cover-lid.
A snow-cloud had sifted its samples,
Of eider-down over their feet,
And a star, looking in through the shingles,
Was spreading o’er them a bright sheet.
Old Santa had lost not a moment.
A cedar tree suddenly sprung
Into life just in front of the children,
With pop-corn and bright ribbons strung.
Some tiny wax candles were lighted,
To chase off the thoughts of the night;
And the dollies had met in the tree-top
To dance in their dresses of white.
A kite that could climb into cloud-land
Hung low, and a new picture-book;
A street-car “wound up” for its journey,
And a little boat built for the brook.
Oh! all kinds of candy he left them
That ever I tasted, or you;
And under the tree there were apples
And peanuts--a bucket or two.
He built them a fire, and dresses
Were left, made of flannel so warm;
And, with many nice greetings and wishes,
We galloped away through the storm.
Away, and away sped the ponies,
So fast that none could o’ertake--
So fast (it was told me this morning),
We looked like a winged snow-flake.
But soon at a homestead we halted,
Old Santa said I must alight,
To see if the children were sleeping,
And leave them whatever was right.
So I crept to the casement--it opened,
And I saw what I ne’er shall forget--
Those darlings there slumbering sweetly,
The thoughts of the night-fall had met.
We gave them all kinds of nice presents,
What they were, it is useless to say;
For they’ve found them and now are rejoicing,
And happy this glad holiday.
So children, be kind to each other,
Be gentle and loving--because
I may be invited next Christmas
To gallop with old Santa Claus.
Home Memories.
I am thinking of a cottage
Where the roses used to bloom,
How they talked beside the pavement
In low whispers of perfume,
Or climbed up beside the window
To look in my little room.
I am thinking of the door-way
Where the vine I used to train,
That snowed down its flaky petals
With a pleasant summer rain;
Where I used to sit and listen
To the old mill’s low refrain.
I’m thinking of the sunflower, too,
That towered above the gate;
Of the friends who called me hither
When the day was cool and late.
Ah! those hours seem so distant
And the year, an ancient date.
I am thinking of the grape-vine
Where the crippled robin fed,
How he lingered there each morning
’Till fresh crumbs for him were spread.
Is he feeding there this summer
From a stranger’s hand, instead?
I am thinking of the children
Who crept to the little yard,
Begging me to grant permission
That they play upon the sward.
Could I bar them from the entry?
Thus might Heaven me discard.
I am thinking of a morning
That wrung from my heart a sigh,
When I kissed warm lips that trembled,
With a tear-drop in my eye;
While I closed our cottage windows
And pronounced the word--good-bye.
Sunshine and Shadow.
I passed a pretty cottage place,
A rose looked from the door
And smiled so sweetly in my face
I paused the house before.
The honeysuckle from the wall
Threw down a welcome tear,
The breeze came rushing through the hall
And whispered, “Tarry here,
“For all within is peace and love;”
So through the curtain’s lace
I glanced the reckless words to prove,
And saw a lover’s face
Bent close above two eyes of blue.
Why should I dim their day?
Across the pane the blind I drew,
And softly crept away.
I went again, one summer eve;
The rose blushed at the door
But smiled as sweetly to receive
Me as it did before;
The breeze came out as joyously,
And lingered at my side,
And murmured: “Tarry now and see
Our happy groom and bride.”
“O, no!” I said, “some other day
I’ll call the pair to see.”
But as I turned to go away
They both looked out at me.
O! what a light of hope and love
Their features then o’erspread;
And a shekinah from above
Seemed on the cottage shed.
Years crept away. When next I came
Before that open door,
A little child pronounced my name
That golden tresses wore.
“Will you come in?” she gladly cried,
And opened wide the gate.
“My little one,” I slow replied,
“The day is low and late.
“To-morrow when the sun is bright,
I’ll come and play with you;
Too chilly now, the falling night,
Too damp the evening dew.”
And so I did. I often trod
Along the side yard there;
And found that fresher grew the sod,
The sky more bright and fair.
I once had said that every rose
Held just a briar or two,
And every river as it flows
A dark wave with the blue;
But ’twas not thus I found it here,
The world that night I’d tell
That I had found a sky so clear
That rain drops never fell.
Thus musing on that sweet child’s face
That night I could not sleep,
A shadow seemed the light to chase
As storms the ocean sweep;
And when the stars forsook the sky
And birds their matins sang
I strolled again the cottage by
And loud the door-bell rang.
The rose had dropped its leaves and died,
I heard within a sob.
What did it mean? The winds replied
“Crape hangs upon the knob.”
Softly I raised the window’s lace--
The little child was dead--
I threw a flower across her face,
And from the cottage fled.
I never will go back again
Or push the blinds apart--
I sought a sunshine for my pen,
Found shadows for my heart.
Only a Fern Leaf.