Poems (Truesdell)/A Tale without a Name
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A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
"Marriage is a matter of more worth,
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship."
Shakspeare—Henry IV.
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship."
Shakspeare—Henry IV.
Morn's earliest rays had tinged the tree-tops
"With their golden hue; when a fond mother
Sought the couch whereon her child reposed.
"Awake, my Alice! awake!" she cried,
"To happiness: it is thy bridal morn!
The sun comes out with gorgeous splendor,
As though it sought to make more glad this happy day.
Dost mark how proudly even now its crimson
Glories rest on yonder hillock fair, where
Stands thy future home? When eve shall come, thou
Wilt be mistress of the proudest mansion
In this proud city—the envy of the
London world. Slaves at thy bidding then will
Come; broad lands and manors fair be thine; and
More than this, the deep, abiding love of
One, whom many sought, but sought in vain,
To win. Dost hear me not, my daughter?"
"With their golden hue; when a fond mother
Sought the couch whereon her child reposed.
"Awake, my Alice! awake!" she cried,
"To happiness: it is thy bridal morn!
The sun comes out with gorgeous splendor,
As though it sought to make more glad this happy day.
Dost mark how proudly even now its crimson
Glories rest on yonder hillock fair, where
Stands thy future home? When eve shall come, thou
Wilt be mistress of the proudest mansion
In this proud city—the envy of the
London world. Slaves at thy bidding then will
Come; broad lands and manors fair be thine; and
More than this, the deep, abiding love of
One, whom many sought, but sought in vain,
To win. Dost hear me not, my daughter?"
Gently
The maiden started from her sleep, with such
A look of radiant happiness upon
Her face, the mother's conscience ceased a
Moment to reproach. But, ah! 'twas but
A transient gleam—the meteor's ray. With
Her soft hand she put aside the curls that
Clustered round her brow of snowy whiteness,
And in a tone of deep and touching sadness
Said—"Why didst thou wake me, mother?
I in dreams had wandered far away, to my
Sweet childhood's home. I stood beside the fount,
Whose limpid waters gushed and bubbled
At my feet; and by my side was Herbert Gray,
My childhood's playmate—the dear companion
Of my later youth; and hand in hand we
Roved together 'mid the sweets that scent
My native vale: and he did gaze so fondly
In my face, and clasp my hand so tenderly
In his, I feel the pressure of it yet.
But, ah! 'twas but a dream!" And tears, those
Swift, unbidden messengers of grief, dimmed
Her soft pleading eyes.
The maiden started from her sleep, with such
A look of radiant happiness upon
Her face, the mother's conscience ceased a
Moment to reproach. But, ah! 'twas but
A transient gleam—the meteor's ray. With
Her soft hand she put aside the curls that
Clustered round her brow of snowy whiteness,
And in a tone of deep and touching sadness
Said—"Why didst thou wake me, mother?
I in dreams had wandered far away, to my
Sweet childhood's home. I stood beside the fount,
Whose limpid waters gushed and bubbled
At my feet; and by my side was Herbert Gray,
My childhood's playmate—the dear companion
Of my later youth; and hand in hand we
Roved together 'mid the sweets that scent
My native vale: and he did gaze so fondly
In my face, and clasp my hand so tenderly
In his, I feel the pressure of it yet.
But, ah! 'twas but a dream!" And tears, those
Swift, unbidden messengers of grief, dimmed
Her soft pleading eyes.
The mother's brow grew dark.
"What! tears upon thy bridal morn? they ill
Become thee: thou shouldst be a woman now, and
Lay aside all childish things." "Oh! chide me
Not, my mother; but let me still weep on:
To-morrow, though my heart should break, I must
Not shed a tear."
"What! tears upon thy bridal morn? they ill
Become thee: thou shouldst be a woman now, and
Lay aside all childish things." "Oh! chide me
Not, my mother; but let me still weep on:
To-morrow, though my heart should break, I must
Not shed a tear."
Morn on her rosy wings went by;
The noon's hot, scorching rays had sunk into
The quiet shades of eve, when the bride-maidens
Sought the gentle bride. But when they came unto
Her room, they marveled much to find she
Was not there: they sought, but sought in vain; they
Called, but Echo only answered back
The call. The father's brow grew dark with grief;
The mother wept aloud; and the stern bridegroom
Muttered something of woman's faithlessness,—
When, lo! a note was brought. 'Twas signed by
Herbert Gray; and read—"We two have grown together,
With such fond and earnest faith,—have loved each other
With such holy love, to sunder us is death. . . . ."
And when he spoke of Alice, his sweet bride,
He said—"The primrose better loves the shade,
The violet seeks a sheltered dell,
And there unfolds its sweets." One trembling line
Was writ by Alice' hand: and when the parents
Read it, ambition died within their hearts,
And they acknowledged there, before their guests,
Limits to parental law; for though a parent
May restrain his child, he must not barter
Her for gold.
The noon's hot, scorching rays had sunk into
The quiet shades of eve, when the bride-maidens
Sought the gentle bride. But when they came unto
Her room, they marveled much to find she
Was not there: they sought, but sought in vain; they
Called, but Echo only answered back
The call. The father's brow grew dark with grief;
The mother wept aloud; and the stern bridegroom
Muttered something of woman's faithlessness,—
When, lo! a note was brought. 'Twas signed by
Herbert Gray; and read—"We two have grown together,
With such fond and earnest faith,—have loved each other
With such holy love, to sunder us is death. . . . ."
And when he spoke of Alice, his sweet bride,
He said—"The primrose better loves the shade,
The violet seeks a sheltered dell,
And there unfolds its sweets." One trembling line
Was writ by Alice' hand: and when the parents
Read it, ambition died within their hearts,
And they acknowledged there, before their guests,
Limits to parental law; for though a parent
May restrain his child, he must not barter
Her for gold.