Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1854-03-25
THE ANT1-sLAvERY UGLE.
GRANDE-DAME AND CHILD.
NJ ALICE CAREY.

nv ALICE CAREY.
The naples limbs Of yellow flowers
Made spots of sunshine hero and thsss
In the bleak woods; merry pair
Of blue-birdS, which the April showers
Had softly called, were come that day;
Another week would brig the May,
And oil the meadow-grass would shine
With strawberries; and all the trees
Whisper Of coming blooms, and bees
Work busy, making golden wine.
The whte-haired grand-dame faint and sick,
Sits fretful in her chair of oak;
The clock is nearly on the stroke
OF all the days best hour, and quick
The dreary house will glimmer bright
No candle needed any more
For Miriams smile is so like light
The moths fly with her in the door.
The lilies carved in her chair
The grand-dame counts, but cannot tell
If they be three or seven; the pair
Of merry blue-birds, singing well,
She does not hear; nor can she see
AhO hiOphohihVg COIu huu puEcy hnu DEtkuAg
Walk like an angel clothed in white,
The path where Miriam should be.
Almost she hears the little feet
Patter along the path Of sands;
Her eyes are making pictures sweet,
And every breeze her cheek that fans,
Half cheats her to believe, wis,
It is her pretty grandchld's kiss.
The dainty hood, her fancy too
Sees hanging on the cabin wall,
And from her modest eyes Of blue,
Fair Miriam putting back the fall
OF her brown hair, and laughing wild
Her darling merry-hearted child
Then with step as light and low
As any wood-bird's in the snow,
She goes about her household cares.
"The saints will surely count for prayers
The duties love doth swceten So"
Says tho pleased grand-dame; but, alas!
No feet arc pattcring on the grass,
No hood is hanging on the wall
It was a foolish dreaming, all.
The morning-glories windingup
The rustic pillars of the shed,
Open their dark bells, cup by cup,
To the June's rainy clouds; the bed
Of rosemary and meadow-sweet
Which Miriam kept with so much care,
Is run to weeds, ard everywhere
Across the paths her busy feet
Wore smooth and hard, the grass has grown,
And still the grand-dame sits alone,
Counting the lilies on her chair
Her ancient chair Of carved oak
And fretful, listening for the stroke
OF the old clock, and for the pair
OF buebirds that have long been still;
Saying, as Ger the neighbouring hill
! The shadows gather thick and dumb
'"Tis time that Miriam were come"
!, And now the spiders cease to weave,
And from between the corn's greon stems
Drawing after her her scarlet hens,
Dew-dappled, the brown-vested Eve
Slow to her purple pillows drops;
His tired team now the ploughman stops;
In the dim woods the axe is still,
And sober, winding round the hill,
The cows come home "Come pretty one,
I'm watching for you at the door,"
: Calls the old grand-dame DER and Ger,
"Tis time the working oil were DONE"
a And kindly neighbours come and 90,
0 But gently piteous; none have said,
"Your pretty grandchild sleepeth so
e We cannot wake herr" but instead
!, Piling the cushions in her chair,
!. Carved in many quaint design
4; OF leaves and lilies, nice and fine,
# They tell her she must not despair
!, !. To meet her pretty child again
r To see her wear forever more,
}, smile of brighter love than when
IS The moths flew with her in the door.