I climbed the stairs with grandma,--
’Twas not very long ago,
To the attic--full of rubbish;
(P’r’aps I shouldn’t call it so),
For her lips were all a-tremble,
As she whispered low, “You see,
Child, no one can ever realize
The scenes they all bring back to me!”
Then she drew into the sunlight,
From a corner, almost hid,
The quaintest, oddest hair trunk,
With brass nail words on the lid!
Lifting it, she took out slowly
(Once she wore it--you can guess),
Just the daintiest of garments,--
A faded, sleeveless bridal dress.
Just beneath there lay a sampler,
Folded o’er some rose leaves wild;
“This,” she said (I scarcely heard it),
“This I did when but a child.”
Near by stood a tiny flax-wheel,--
Round and round the wheel she turned,
As with it, a blushing maiden,
She her wedding “outfit” earned.
Then beside a wooden cradle,
Grandma in an arm-chair sat;
Rocked it back and forward gently,
With her foot--yet stranger’n that,
Sang: “_Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber_”,--
And with such a yearning tone,
I softly stole away and left her,
With her dream scenes all alone!