_THE DIFFERENCE_
Up in the cozy chamber,
Where, on the snowy bed
The dress, and the pearls, and the new false curls,
For the morrow's use were spread,
The bride-elect and her mother
Were sitting before the grate,
Talking over the days gone by,
And planning the future state.
"I really am quite well suited,"
Said Minnie, "with my outfit--
Jane says Kit Somers trousseau,
Is nothing compared with it.
That her laces are imitation,
And her bonnet a perfect fright,
And she says I'll wholly eclipse her
In everybody's sight.
"And she isn't to make the tour,
But only to visit awhile.
I declare I'd never be married
If I couldn't do it in style.
Jane says her jewels, though splendid,
With mine can never compare:
I tell you I do love Harry,
When I look at this solitaire.
"And I think he's a darling, mother,
For he's going to let me board,
At least he will, he says, until
He finds that he can afford
To purchase that house of Mosleys,
That splendid brown stone front.
I wouldn't have anything humbler.
And Harry says _he_ won't.
"My presents are perfectly splendid,
Much finer than Kit's, I know,
I think that's half of a wedding
To have such things to show.
If we get that house of Mosleys,
What a brilliant life we'll live.
Such people as I'll have throng it--
Such parties as I will give.
"I mean to just _queen it_, mother,
In society everywhere,
And my title of Belle of the City
I shall continue to wear.
I don't believe that a woman
By marriage should be tied down
To wearing a smile for her husband
And for all other men a frown.
"I mean to dress better than ever,
And be just as merry and free.
Children! the troublesome wretches!
No ma'am, not any for me.
I know I'd be cross and unhappy,
With children to tease, and annoy.
A joy, you say, to be mother,
Well, I will be spared that joy."
Across the hall in their bedroom
A hale old couple sat,
Minnie's grandfather and mother,
Having a good night chat.
"So, the last of the children is going,"
Grandmother said, and sighed,
"Minnie, (we named her Mary,)
To-morrow will be a bride.
"It will be a great occasion,
All glitter and glow and shine,
A nineteenth century wedding,
Not much like yours, and mine.
A few good friends were with us,
When we were married, John,
They came to see us united--
Not to see what the bride had on.
"I wore a snowy muslin,
And a white rose in my hair,
No silks nor gems, nor diadems--
And yet you thought me fair.
We stood in the broad cool kitchen,
On the white and sanded floor,
And a breeze from the odorous orchard,
Looked in at the open door.
"The minister read the service
That made us one for life,
And I was no longer a maiden
But a loved and cherished wife.
You took me home on the morrow!
Six miles, in a one-horse chaise;
Folks didn't race over the country
'Touring' in those old days.
"Our house was a tiny cabin
That would just hold two, you said,
But ere a year, you found, my dear
There was room for three, instead.
Ah me! that wonderful baby!
'Twas a moment of perfect bliss
When I held up the pink faced darling
For his father's tender kiss.
"Then came a dear little daughter!
And then more boys and girls
Till you built on a wing to the cabin
To cover their sunny curls.
There was never a happier woman
In all of the land I know,
Singing away at my labor--
Watching the children grow.
"I had my beaux and lovers,
When I was a girl; but when
I became your bride I put aside
All thoughts of other men.
Lover, and king, and husband,
And friend, I found in you,
And you repaid my devotion,
By being kind, and true.
"Ah well! the world keeps changing
And weddings have changed with the rest,
People go only to comment
And see how the bride is drest.
Girls wed houses and titles
Instead of men as of old,
And babies are out of the fashion
And all that glitters is gold.
"Perhaps these times are better,
Though I cannot think them so,
But I am a poor old woman.
And not supposed to know."
And grandmother finished her musings
With a meaning shake of the head
Over nineteenth century folly.
And sighed, and went to bed.
1872
_LOVES EXTRAVAGANCE_
Could I but measure my strength, by my love,
Were I as strong, as my heart's love is true,
I would pull down the stars, from the heavens above,
And weave them all into a garland for you.
And brighter, and better, your jewels should be
Than any proud queen's, that e'r dwelt o'er the sea.
Ay! richer and rarer, your gems, love, should be
Than any rare jewels that come from the sea.
I would gather the beautiful, delicate green
From the dress of the spring--with the heaven's soft blue,
And never from east land, to west land were seen
Such wonderful robes, as I'd fashion for you.
And I'd snatch the bright rays of the sun in my hand
And braid you a girdle, love, strand over strand.
Ay! one by one, catch the bright rays in my hand
And braid them, and twine them, all strand over strand.
I would gather the amber, the red and gold dyes,
That glimmer and glow, in the autumn sunset,
And weave you a mantle; and pull from the skies
The rainbow to trim it. Ah Love! never yet
Was any proud princess, from east to the west
So peerlessly jeweled--so royally drest.
Never daughter of princes, in east land or west,
So decked in rare jewels, so gorgeously drest.
And I'd make you a vail, from the rare golden haze,
That Indian Summer spreads over the lea.
And trim it with dew! Queens should envy and praise
Your matchless apparel, ah darling, but see--
My strength is unequal to what I would do!
I have only this little low cottage, for you.
Nay! I can not accomplish the thing I would do,
And I've only this cot and a warm heart for you.
1870
_YOU WILL FORGET ME_
You will forget me: the years are so tender--
They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep;
This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor
Fades from the sky, when the sun sinks to sleep:
The clouds of forgetfulness, over and over,
Will banish the last rosy colors away;
And th' fingers of Time will weave garlands to cover
The scar which you think is a life-mark to-day.
You will forget me:--will thank me for saying
The words which you think are so pointed with pain,
Time loves a new lay; and the dirge he is playing
Will change for you soon to a livelier strain.
I shall pass from your life, I shall pass out forever,
And the hours we have spent, will be sunk in the past.
Youth buries its dead: grief kills seldom, or never,
And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.
You will forget me; the one thing you covet
Now, above all things will soon seem no prize:
And the heart which is not in your keeping, to prove it
True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes.
The one drop to-day, which you deem only wanting
To make life a joy, will be lost in Time's stream;
You will forget; and the ghost that is haunting
The aisles of your heart will pass out with the dream.