Sweet cousin mine! where, in the land of shadows,
Doth that smile illume, that voice bring joy as of old?
This quaint and closeted chamber, ah, here was unfolded
The love of a child for a child, through years and through sorrows
Remembered and cherished by each,—the love of the old
For the old, now,—the love of the old for lost youth
And comrades long gone, and loved and remembered together.
And she with the heart of a queen, and the soul of a martyr;
In young days serene, and blithe and undaunted in age,
Who loved the old house, even as I,—her birthplace, her refuge,—
She in a vision comes near; and quick I remember
One night of all nights, when a messenger stood in the doorway—
Silent he stood, and we knew the message unspoken!
O night of nights, when a wife turned sudden a widow,
And a child, neath the solacing stars, passed swift into manhood.
IV
But of childhood the old house whispers and murmurs to-night,
Of the twilight hour in the arms of her the beloved
And loving sister of her who gave me my being—
Who like a second mother encompassed my childhood
With song and with story, with gleams of fairy and hero,
Chanting in twilight gray the ancient ballads,
Or crooning, as if to herself, the love-songs of girlhood;
Or, again, she fashioned the tales of her own young days:
Of the country balls, in the time when winter was winter,
And the snows were piled—high as the head of a man,
