That pavement damp and cold.
No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands,
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound- An infant wail alone;
A sob suppress'd—again
That short deep gasp-and then The parting groan.
Oh! change-Oh! wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars!
This moment there, so low,
So agonized and now Beyond the stars!
Oh change-stupendous change! Their lies the soul-less clod!
The sun eternal breaks
The new immortal wakes
Wakes with his God.
'HUSH, Joanna! 'tis quite certain That the coffee was not strong; Own your error, I'll forgive you,—
Why so stubborn in the
"You'll forgive me! Sir, I hate you! You have used me like a churl; Have my senses ceased to guide me? Do you think I am a girl?"
"Oh, no! you're a girl no longer, But a woman formed to please; And it's time you should abandon Childish follies such as these."
'Oh, I hate you! but why vex me? If I'm old, you're older still; I'll no longer be your victim, And the creature of your will."
"But, Joanna, why this pother? It might happen I was wrong! But, if common sense inspire me- Still, that coffee was not strong."
"Common sense! you never had it;
Oh, that ever I was born!
To be wedded to a monster
Who repays my love with scorn.
"Well, Joanna, we'll not quarrel; What's the use of bitter strife?
But I'm sorry I am married,- I was mad to take a wife."
Mad, indeed! I'm glad you know it; But, if law can break the chain,
I'll be tied to you no longer
In this misery and pain."
Hush, Joanna! shall the servants Hear you argue ever wrong?
Can you not have done with folly ?- Own the coffee was not strong."
"Oh! you goad me past endurance, Trifling with my woman's heart! But I loathe you, and detest you,- Villain! monster! let us part!
Long this foolish quarrel lasted, Till Joanna half afraid That her empire was in peril,
Summon'd never-failing aid;
Summon'd tears, in copious torrents,- Tears, and sobs, and piteous sighs; Well she knew the potent practice, The artillery of the eyes.
And it chanced as she imagined,— Beautiful in grief was she,- Beautiful to best advantage,
And a tender heart had he.
Kneeling at her side, he soothed her, "Dear Joanna! I was wrong; Nevermore I'll contradict you,— But, oh make my coffee strong!
NONE will dwell in that cottage, for they say Oppression reft it from an honest man, And that a curse clings to it: hence the vine Trails its weight of leaves upon the ground, Hence weeds are in the garden, hence the hedge, Once sweet with honey-suckle, is half dead; And hence the grey moss on the apple tree. One once dwelt there who had been in his youth A soldier; and when many years were passed,
He sought his native village, and sat down To end his days in peace. He had one child; A little laughing thing, whose dark eyes,
He said, were like her mother's she had left Buried in a stranger's land; and time went on In comfort and content—and that girl
far taller than the red rose tree Her father planted on her first English birth-day; And he had trained it up against an ash Till it became his pride-it was so rich In blossom and in beauty, it was called The tree of Isabel! 'Twas an appeal To all the better feelings of the heart To mark their quiet happiness; their home, In truth, a home of love; and more than all, To see them on the Sabbath, when they came Among the first to church; and Isabel,
With her bright color, and her clear blue eyes, Bowed down so meekly in the house of prayer; And in the hymn her sweet voice audible: Her father looked so fond of her, and then From her looked up so thankfully to Heaven! And their small cottage was so very neat;
Their garden filled with fruits, and herbs, and flowers; And in the winter there was no fireside So cheerful as their own. But other days And other fortunes came-an evil power! They bore against it cheerfully and hoped For better times, but ruin came at last; And the old soldier left his own dear home,
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