] 850- 60.] HELEN L. BOSTWICK. 553 " From the brier-bushes near him, Straight he plucked the tasseled stems, Lightly bound, and laughing, crowned them With the treacherous diadems. " But from mine the thorns he parted, Mine alone, of all the band ; Was it warning of my scorning, That the sharpest pierced his hand ? " Yon fair city's proudest mansion Opes for me its marble bowers, Fountains springing, rare birds singing Songs of love to tropic flowers. " Yet lovelier on my sight, Mabel, Comes the home my childhood knew ; Yon low cabin, with its robin. " What though robes of Ind and Cashmere, Silks and velvets, make my tire — I am dreaming, 'mid their gleaming, Of your loom beside the fire ; " Twining still my childish fingers In your spindle's snowy sheath ; — Ah ! the linen of your spinning. Hid no heart-ache underneath. " What though in my casket flashing, Pearls might grace a queen's bandeau. Wild flowers growing in the mowing Never scarred my forehead so. " For I bought them with a heart, bel,— Paid Ambition's cruel price ! Now the haunting demon, taunting. Mocks me with the sacrifice. " Take away the couch and cordial, Let the gilt-caged captive pine ; 'Tis my spirit that is wearied. Can you give it rest and wine ?" Ma- Go, go, leave the false one lonely. Till this struggle be o'erpast; Lorn heart, breaking with love's aching, Pride has failed your need at last ! SOMEWHERE. How little do we know or heed Where, 'mid hfe's chance and changing, Lies the sure fruitage of our deed, Or destiny's arranging. Somewhere the trifles live, that still We fling from hands uncaring ; Some covert hides the good or ill That fate for us is bearing. Somewhere there grows a slender tree My careless fingers planted. Which yet a stately shade may be, Time-crowned and memory-haunted. A climbing rose that blooms at morn, Its fragrant incense giving — Perchance a bitter fruit — a thorn — Yet owes to me its living. Somewhere there is a lowly cot. Where kind thoughts, writ in weakness, May come like birds, when I am not. And cheer, like song, its bleakness ; Somewhere a white and hollow cheek, An eye too restless shining. For some low word that I may speak. May cease awhile their pining. Somewhere a careless action wrought, A moment's lapse of duty. Ma}' leave a burned and blackened blot. To desolate life's beauty. Somewhere — God pardon — hasty words. Like arrows heedless winging. Find out some true heart's tender chords, And pierce with cruel stinging.
