REUBEN
Regular all these years, an’ going there
I’m none so much beholden; I’ve a right
There.”
Tho’ she knew him wise—tho’ sturdy sense,
Ashamed but truthful, told her what had been
Would be again, and warn’d her that Impulse,
So strong in promise and in proof so weak,
Never will alter Nature: yet his dull
Indifference struck upon her soften’d heart
As a stone strikes on flesh. Nor only so—
But all that warm and new-sensed sympathy,
So general now about him, found it strange
And somewhat chilling that its care on one
So careless, so entirely untouch’d,
Must needs be lavish’d. Ay, the spring was back,
The air had soften’d; but the tree was dead.
Reuben, long toss’d upon vicissitudes,
A calm had reach’d where no man touch’d him more.
The day they buried Mercy he came back,
A frail old man, alone; but there was still
One left to bid him welcome. Pilot tore
At his unwonted chain and snapp’d the links,
Leaping and barking with a frantic joy
Untestified for months, to find the long
Lone waiting over, and his master back.
40
