THE LOVE SONG.
There was a slight stir in the hall, and Ralph came into Mrs.
Harrington's room followed by Lina, both brilliant and smiling, as if
the conservatory in which they had loitered away the hours, had bathed
them with the perfume of its blossoms.
"Oh, mamma, it is so pleasant!" cried Lina, stealing forward and seating
herself on a cushion at Mabel's feet. "Isn't this a beautiful, beautiful
day?"
"All days are beautiful to the light-hearted," answered Mabel, burying
her hand fondly in the golden curls that fell, a perfect network of
light, from Lina's drooping head. "I thought it very dull and heavy this
morning; now, the air seems invigorating as old wine. Still, I think the
day itself has changed but little."
"Hasn't it?" questioned Lina, looking up tenderly through the sunny mist
of her hair. "But you are so much better, and look so blooming--perhaps
it is that."
"Perhaps," said Ralph, stooping down and kissing his mother's forehead,
"it's because we are all together again; even this room seems like a
desert, when our lady mother is absent. This should be a gala day with
us; what shall we do, Lina? Crown her with roses, or bring an offering
of fruit and nuts from the hills."
"I will give her some music," answered Lina, springing up and taking her
guitar from a sofa, where it had been lying, neglected and untuned;
"mamma shall have a serenade."
Lina flung the broad, blue ribbon attached to the guitar over her neck;
and, seating herself again, began to tune her instrument, with her
pleasant eyes lifted to Mabel's face.
"Now, what shall it be about," she inquired, casting a half-coquettish
look at Ralph, and blushing like a damask rose beneath the brightness of
his eyes. "What shall I sing about, mamma?"
"Oh, love, sing of nothing but love, to-day, sweet Lina," whispered
Ralph, as he stooped down and pretended to adjust the ribbon over her
white neck.
"Shall I, mamma?" said Lina.
"Sing anything that pleases you," answered Mabel.
"Then it shall be some lines, mamma, that I found in an old book in the
library, with the leaves of a white rose folded in the paper. It was
yellow with age, and so were the poor, dead leaves. I took it to my
room, learned it by heart, and found out that it went by the music of an
old song which Ralph and I used to sing together. That is all I know
about love," continued the rogue, with a blush and a glance upward.
"Well, well, pretty torment, begin," whispered Ralph, again busy with
the ribbon.
For a moment, Lina's little hand fluttered like a bird over the strings
of her guitar; then it made a graceful dash, and her voice broke forth:
Like a water-lily floating,
On the bosom of a rill,
Like a star sent back to Heaven,
When the lake is calm and still;
A woman's soul lies dreaming,
On the stilly waves of life,
Till love comes with its sunshine--
Its tenderness and strife.
Then hope grows bright and glorious,
Her faith is deep and strong,
And her thoughts swell out like music
Set to a heavenly song;
Her heart has twined its being,
And awakes from its repose
As that water-lily trembles
When its chalice overflows.
Then she feels a new existence--
For the loveless do not live!--
The best wealth of the universe
Is hers to keep and give--
Wealth, richer than earth's golden veins
That yield their blood to toil,
And brighter than the diamond lights
That burn within the soil.
Oh, her soul is full of richness,
Like a goblet of old wine
Wreathed in with purple blossoms
And soft tendrils of the vine;
Its holy depths grow luminous,
Its strings are sweet with tune,
And the visions floating through it
Have the rosiness of June.
Oh, she counts not time by cycles,
Since the day that she was born!
From the soul-time of a woman
Let all the years be shorn
Not full of grateful happiness--
Not brimming o'er with love--
Not speaking of her womanhood
To the Holy One above.
Mabel gave a start as the first words of this melody fell upon her ear,
and the slow crimson stole over her face; she kept her gaze steadily on
the carpet, and had any one looked at her, the sadness of her
countenance must have been remarked. But the young people were occupied
with each other, and James Harrington sat, like herself, preoccupied and
listening. As Lina broke into another and lighter air, the two looked
up, and their eyes met. The blush on Mabel's cheek spread and glowed
over her brow and temples. She arose, and went to the window.
"You have heard this before, I think," said Harrington, following her.
"Yes," answered Mabel, regaining self-control; "and always truthful. I
remembered it at once."
"And the author?"
Again Mabel blushed. "Oh, it was written years ago."
"Then you were the author?"
"Oh, yes; why not. I wrote a great many trifles like that at one time."
"I knew it; I was sure of it."
That instant the governess came in, followed by Fair-Star, who began to
plunge and caper at the sight of his mistress. Agnes looked keenly at
Mrs. Harrington's flushed face; but, the covert smile, dawning on her
lip, vanished, as she saw Ralph in the chair his mother had abandoned,
bending over Lina; who sat upon the cushion, trifling with her guitar,
from which, in her confusion, she drew forth a broken strain, now and
then.