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HANNAH BINDING SHOES.

An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;

None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,

Who had yearned for his voice while dying!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary.

The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And, that dumb companion eying,

The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:
"O steed, that every nerve didst strain,

Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying!"

87

CAROLINE NORTON.

Hannah Binding Shoes.

POOR lone Hannah,

Sitting at the window binding shoes.
Faded, wrinkled,

Sitting stitching in a mournful muse.

Bright-eyed beauty once was she,
When the bloom was on the tree;
Spring and winter

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Not a neighbor

Passing nod or answer will refuse,

To her whisper,

“Is there from the fishers any news?”

Oh her heart 's adrift with one

On an endless voyage gone!

Night and morning

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Fair young Hannah

Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gaily wooes;
Hale and clever,

For a willing heart and hand he sues.
May-day skies are all aglow,
And the waves are laughing so!
For her wedding

Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.

May is passing;

Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes.
Hannah shudders,

For the mild southwester mischief brews.
Round the rocks of Marblehead,
Outward bound, a schooner sped;
Silent, lonesome,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

'T is November;

Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews,
From Newfoundland,

Not a sail returning will she lose,
Whispering hoarsely, "Fishermen,
Have you, have you heard of Ben?"
Old with watching,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Twenty winters

Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views;
Twenty seasons

Never one has brought her any news.

Still her dim eyes silently

Chase the white sails o'er the sea;

Hopeless, faithful,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

LUCY LARCOM.

THE WIDOW'S LULLABY.

89

The Widow's Lullaby.

HE droops like a dew-dropping lily,

SHE

"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!

Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!"

The sun comes up from the lea,

As he who will never come more

Came up that first day to her door,

When the ship furled her sails by the shore,
And the spring leaves were green on the tree.

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,

"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !"

The sun goes down in the sea,

As he who will never go more,

Went down that last day from her door,

When the ship set her sails from the shore,
And the dead leaves were sere on the tree.

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,

"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!

Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !"

The year comes glad o'er the lea,

As he who will never come more,

Never, ah never!

Came up that first day to her door,

When the ship furled her sails by the shore,

And the spring leaves were green on the tree.

Never, ah never!

He who will come again, never!

But she droops like a new-dropping lily,

"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!

Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!"

The year goes sad to the sea,

As he who will never go more

For ever went down from her door,

Ever, for ever!

When the ship set her sails by the shore,

And the dead leaves were sere on the tree.

Ever, for ever!

For ever went down from her door.

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,

"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !"

A gun, and a flash, and a gun,

The ship lies again where she lay !

High and low, low and high, in the sun,
There's a boat, a boat on the bay!
High and low, low and high, in the sun,
All as she saw it that day,

When he came who shall never come more,
And the ship furled her sails by the shore.

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !"

All as she saw it that day,

With a gun, and a flash, and a gun,

The ship lies again where she lay,

And they run, and they ride, and they run,

Merry, merry, merry, down the merry highway,
To the boat, high and low in the sun.

Nearer and nearer she hears the rolling drum,

Clearer and clearer she hears the cry, "They come,"
Far and near runs the cheer to her ear once so dear,
Merry, merry, merry, up the merry highway,
As it ran when he came that day

EPITAPH.

And said, "Wilt thou be my dearie?
Oh, wilt thou be my dearie ?

My boat is dry in the bay,

And I'll love till thou be weary y!
And she could not say him nay,
For his bonny eyes o' blue,
And never was true-love so true,
To never so kind a dearie,

As he who will never love more,

When the ship furls her sails by the shore.

91

Then she shakes like a wind-stricken lily,
"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !"
SYDNEY DOBell.

F

Epitaph.

AREWELL! - since never more for thee

The sun comes up our earthly skies,
Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be
To some fond heart and saddened eyes.

There are who, for thy last long sleep,
Shall sleep as sweetly never more,
Must weep because thou canst not weep,
And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er.

Sad thrift of love! - the loving breast,
Whereon thine aching head was thrown,
Gave up the weary head to rest,

But kept the aching for its own,

Till pain shall find the same low bed
That pillows now thy painless head,
And, following darkly through the night,
Love reach thee by the founts of light.

THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY.

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