New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1866-07-25
The Tragedy.

With the gallant and the gay,
Who had come to see the Tragedy,
And while the hours away
There was the fairest Exquisite,
With gloves and glass sublime;
There was the dull Historian,
And there the man of Rhyme,
And the snsring Critic, front to front,
To see the play of crime
And there was heavy Ignorance,
And Vice in Honiton lace
Sir Croesus and Sir Pandarus-
And the music played apace.
But of oil that crowd | only saw
single, single face
Twas that of a girl whom had known
In the summers long ago,
When her breath was like new mown hay,
Or the daiutieSt flowers that grow
When her heart was Highland her soul was
white
AS the winters early snow!
Twas in our own New England
She breathed the morning air;
Twas the sunshine of New England
That blended with her hair
And modesty and purity
Walked with her everywhere!
She sang i the morning like lark,
At dusk, like whip. po'-will;
And her grapdsire held her on his knee,
10 the evenings long and still,
And told her how he worked one night
In the trench, at Bunker's Hill!
The years went by, and the maiden grew
Like hare.bell in the glade;
The chestnut shadows creptin her eyes
Sweet eyes that were not afraid
To look TO Heaven at morn or even,
Or any time she prayed
She was the light OF the cottage then;
She was the golden sun
OF the old mans life-the poor old man
Whose toll was nearly done!
He watched her in the clover patch,
And among the tasseled corn,
And in the lawns where apple-hlooms
We've falling night and morn
And he saw the holy thoughts that grew
Within her eyes like dawn
She walked with him to the village church,
And his eyes would ill with pride
To see them side by side ....
To see her with the man she lovedl
Sweet Heavens She were an Angel now
If she had only died.
If she had only died alasI
How keen must be the woe
That makes it better one should lie
Where the sunshine cannot go,
Than to live ia this pleasant sunny world,
Where the happy flowers do blow
Would she had wed some country boor
Before That luckless day
When her cousin came to that simple home
Her cousin Clarence Maye,
With his city airs and handsome eyes
To lead her soul astray.
God dropped a pearl in his path Of life,
Thu hoo 0f OF eli
And he threw it away with a cruel laugh
He murdered while he smiled aa5
Oh, but his words were soft as dew,
And his voice was frank and mild
One night they left the cottage
One night in the mist and rain
And the old man never saw his pet
Nor Clarence Maye again;
NeEersaw his pet in the clover patch,
In the meadow, nor the lanet
And day by day he looked for her,
This pitiful old man;
Where is my little maid?" he said,
This pitiful old man,
AT last he died. and they buried aim E
Where the silver waters ran sae1=
Many time like milk-white doves,
The daisies few away,
And we never heard OF her who led
In the night with Clarence Mayo;
Never knew if she were alive or dead,
Till met her at the play! &
And there she sat with her great brown eyes
They wore a troubled look;
And Tread the history of her life
As it were an open book
And saw her soul like Shiny thing
In the bottom of brook
There she sat in her glistening silk,
With hUernids nm her WRIT .sanl
And on her brow a slender thread
OfpeaTl and amethyst, .s.
i' A cheat, gilded griefin cried,
And my eyes were filed with mist
could not see the players play
could hear the music moan
Moan like the dismal winter wind,
That dies in the woods alone III; TAu
And when it stopped heard it still,
That mournful monitone
What if the Count were true or false
did not care, not L;
Z What If Camille for Armand died
did not see her die. SO
There sat woman opposite
Who held me with her eye
The great green curtain felton, all
On laugh and wine and woe
just "a death some day will fall
'Fwixt us and life, we know sska
The play was done--the bitter play
And the people turned to go.
And did they see the tragedy? ae4
They saw the painted scene; nsE
They saw Armand, the Jealous fool, Sri
And the rich Partisan queen;
But they did not see the Tragedy
The one saw, mean.
They did not see that cold-cut face,
Those golden braids of hair; nj 81