"Vain your calling for Rob Rawlin! Some red squaw his moose-meat 's broiling, Or some French lass, singing gay; Just forget as he 's forgetting; What avails a life of fretting? If some stars must needs be setting, Others rise as good as they." "Cease, I pray; go your way ! Martha cries, her eyelids wetting; "Foul and false the words you say! "Martha Mason, hear to reason! Prithee, put a kinder face on!" "Cease to vex me," did she say; "Better at his side be lying, With the mournful pine-trees sighing, And the wild birds o'er us crying, Than to doubt like mine a prey; Some new hope for each new day. "When the shadows veil the meadows, And the sunset's golden ladders Sink from twilight's walls of gray, — Fades the fond, delusive seeming, "When the growing dawn is showing, Ah! my heart, my heart is breaking Look up, Martha ! worn and swarthy, Glows a face of manhood worthy: "Robert!" "Martha!" all they say. Noon of night is noon of day! Quench the timber's fallen embers, When the bridal bells shall say: |