Chapter III

If we who have sailed together Flit out of each other's view, The world will sail on, I think, Just as it used to do; And we may reckon by stars That flash from different skies, And another of love's pirates May capture my lost prize; But ships long time together Can better the tempest weather Than any other two; So I think you had better be kind, And I had best be true, That we together may sail, Just as we used to do.

THE FADING FLOWER.

There is a chillness in the air-- A coldness in the smile of day; And e'en the sunbeam's crimson glare Seems shaded with a tinge of gray.

Weary of journeys to and fro, The sun low creeps adown the sky; And on the shivering earth below, The long, cold shadows grimly lie.

But there will fall a deeper shade, More chilling than the Autumn's breath: There is a flower that yet must fade, And yield its sweetness up to death.

She sits upon the window-seat, Musing in mournful silence there, While on her brow the sunbeams meet, And dally with her golden hair.

She gazes on the sea of light That overflows the western skies, Till her great soul seems plumed for flight From out the window of her eyes.

Hopes unfulfilled have vexed her breast, Sad smiles have checked the rising sigh; Until her weary heart confessed, Reluctantly, that she must die.

And she has thought of all the ties-- The golden ties--that bind her here; Of all that she has learned to prize, Of all that she has counted dear;

The joys of body, heart, and mind, The pleasures that she loves so well; The grasp of friendship, warm and kind, And love's delicious, hallowed spell.

And she has wept, that she must lie Beneath the snow-wreaths, drifted deep, With no fond mother standing nigh, To watch her in her silent sleep.

And she has prayed, if it might be Within the reach of human skill, And not averse to Heaven, that she Might live a little longer still.

But earthly hope is gone; and now Comes in its place a brighter beam, Leaving upon her snowy brow The impress of a heavenly dream:

That she, when her frail body yields, And fades away to mortal eyes, Shall burst through Heaven's eternal fields, And bloom again--in Paradise.

AUTUMN DAYS.

Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward-flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden, Autumn days!

Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Woefully and hoarsely calling; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling. Sad and mournful are thy ways, Grieving, wailing, Autumn days!

DEATH-DOOMED.

They're taking me to the gallows, mother--they mean to hang me high; They're going to gather round me there, and watch me till I die; All earthly joy has vanished now, and gone each mortal hope,-- They'll draw a cap across my eyes, and round my neck a rope; The crazy mob will shout and groan--the priest will read a prayer, The drop will fall beneath my feet and leave me in the air. They think I murdered Allen Bayne; for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

The grass that grows in yonder meadow, the lambs that skip and play, The pebbled brook behind the orchard, that laughs upon its way, The flowers that bloom in the dear old garden, the birds that sing and fly, Are clear and pure of human blood, and, mother, so am I! By father's grave on yonder hill--his name without a stain-- I ne'er had malice in my heart, or murdered Allen Bayne! But twelve good men have found me guilty, for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

The air is fresh and bracing, mother; the sun shines bright and high; It is a pleasant day to live--a gloomy one to die! It is a bright and glorious day the joys of earth to grasp-- It is a sad and wretched one to strangle, choke, and gasp! But let them damp my lofty spirit, or cow me if they can! They send me like a rogue to death--I'll meet it like a man; For I never murdered Allen Bayne! but so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

Poor little sister 'Bell will weep, and kiss me as I lie; But kiss her twice and thrice for me, and tell her not to cry; Tell her to weave a bright, gay garland, and crown me as of yore, Then plant a lily upon my grave, and think of me no more. And tell that maiden whose love I sought, that I was faithful yet; But I must lie in a felon's grave, and she had best forget. My memory is stained forever; for so the Judge has said, And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

Lay me not down by my father's side; for once, I mind, he said No child that stained his spotless name should share his mortal bed. Old friends would look beyond his grave, to my dishonored one, And hide the virtues of the sire behind the recreant son. And I can fancy, if there my corse its fettered limbs should lay, His frowning skull and crumbling bones would shrink from me away; But I swear to God I'm innocent, and never blood have shed! And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

Lay me in my coffin, mother, as you've sometimes seen me rest: One of my arms beneath my head, the other on my breast. Place my Bible upon my heart--nay, mother, do not weep-- And kiss me as in happier days you kissed me when asleep. And for the rest--for form or rite--but little do I reck; But cover up that cursed stain--_the black mark on my neck!_ And pray to God for his great mercy on my devoted head; For they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

But hark! I hear a mighty murmur among the jostling crowd! A cry!--a shout!--a roar of voices!--it echoes long and loud! There dashes a horseman with foaming steed and tightly-gathered rein! He sits erect!--he waves his hand!--good Heaven! 'tis Allen Bayne! The lost is found, the dead alive, my safety is achieved! For he waves his hand again, and shouts, "The prisoner is reprieved!" Now, mother, praise the God you love, and raise your drooping head; For the murderous gallows, black and grim, is cheated of its dead!

UP THE LINE.

Through blinding storm and clouds of night, We swiftly pushed our restless flight; With thundering hoof and warning neigh, We urged our steed upon his way Up the line.

Afar the lofty head-light gleamed; Afar the whistle shrieked and screamed; And glistening bright, and rising high, Our flakes of fire bestrewed the sky, Up the line.

Adown the long, complaining track, Our wheels a message hurried back; And quivering through the rails ahead, Went news of our resistless tread, Up the line.

The trees gave back our din and shout, And flung their shadow arms about; And shivering in their coats of gray, They heard us roaring far away, Up the line.

The wailing storm came on apace, And dashed its tears into our fade; But steadily still we pierced it through, And cut the sweeping wind in two, Up the line.

A rattling rush across the ridge, A thunder-peal beneath the bridge; And valley and hill and sober plain Re-echoed our triumphant strain, Up the line.

And when the Eastern streaks of gray Bespoke the dawn of coming day, We halted our steed, his journey o'er, And urged his giant form no more, Up the line.

HOW WE KEPT THE DAY.