HANNAH BINDING SHOES. An echo returned on the cold gray morn, None welcomed the king from that weary ride; Who had yearned for his voice while dying! The panting steed, with a drooping crest, The king returned from her chamber of rest, And, that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!" 87 CAROLINE NORTON. Hannah Binding Shoes. POOR lone Hannah, Sitting at the window binding shoes. Sitting stitching in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. Not a neighbor Passing nod or answer will refuse, To her whisper, “Is there from the fishers any news?” Oh her heart 's adrift with one On an endless voyage gone! Night and morning Hannah's at the window binding shoes. Fair young Hannah Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gaily wooes; For a willing heart and hand he sues. Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. May is passing; Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes. For the mild southwester mischief brews. Hannah's at the window binding shoes. 'T is November; Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews, Not a sail returning will she lose, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. Twenty winters Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views; Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea; Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. LUCY LARCOM. THE WIDOW'S LULLABY. 89 The Widow's Lullaby. HE droops like a dew-dropping lily, SHE "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!" The sun comes up from the lea, As he who will never come more Came up that first day to her door, When the ship furled her sails by the shore, But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !" The sun goes down in the sea, As he who will never go more, Went down that last day from her door, When the ship set her sails from the shore, But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !" The year comes glad o'er the lea, As he who will never come more, Never, ah never! Came up that first day to her door, When the ship furled her sails by the shore, And the spring leaves were green on the tree. Never, ah never! He who will come again, never! But she droops like a new-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!" The year goes sad to the sea, As he who will never go more For ever went down from her door, Ever, for ever! When the ship set her sails by the shore, And the dead leaves were sere on the tree. Ever, for ever! For ever went down from her door. But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !" A gun, and a flash, and a gun, The ship lies again where she lay ! High and low, low and high, in the sun, When he came who shall never come more, But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, "Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie! Whisht, whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !" All as she saw it that day, With a gun, and a flash, and a gun, The ship lies again where she lay, And they run, and they ride, and they run, Merry, merry, merry, down the merry highway, Nearer and nearer she hears the rolling drum, Clearer and clearer she hears the cry, "They come," EPITAPH. And said, "Wilt thou be my dearie? My boat is dry in the bay, And I'll love till thou be weary y! As he who will never love more, When the ship furls her sails by the shore. 91 Then she shakes like a wind-stricken lily, F Epitaph. AREWELL! - since never more for thee The sun comes up our earthly skies, There are who, for thy last long sleep, Sad thrift of love! - the loving breast, But kept the aching for its own, Till pain shall find the same low bed THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY. |