The Conservative. (M'connelsville, Ohio) 1866-1871, 1870-08-19
Dottm.
From the Atlantic Monthly for August.
DOROTHY IN THE GARRETT.
BYE. T. TRoEBRIDGE.


In the low-raftered garret, STOPPING
Carefully over the creaking boards,
Old Maid Dorothy goes a-groping
Among the dusty and cobWebbed boards;
Seeking some bundle of patches, hid
Far under the esyes, or bunch Of sage,
Or satchel hung on its nail, amid
The heirlooms of bygone age.
There is the ancient family chest,
There the ancestral cards and hatchel;
Dorothy. signing, sinks down to rest,
Forgetfutof patches, sage, and satchel,
Ghosts of faces peer from the gloom
OF the chimney, where, with sWiftS and reel,
And the ng-disused, dismantled loom,
Stands the old-fashioned spinning wheel.
She sees it back in the elean-swept kitchen,
Apart ef her girlhood's little world;
Her mother is there by the window, stitching;
Spindle buzzes, and reel is whirled
With many click; on her little stool
She aits. child, BY the open door,
Watching and dabbling her feet in the pool
OF sunshine spilled on the glided hoor.
Her sisters are spinning all day long;
To her wakeRing sense, the first sweet warning
o daylight come is the cheerful song
To the hum of the wheel in the early morning,
Benjie the gentle, red-cheeked boy,
On his way to school peeps in at the gate;
In neat, white pinsfore, pleased and coy,
She reaches hand TO her bashful mates
And under the elms, prattling pair,
1t all comes back to her, dreaming there
In the lOw-raftered garret-room;
The hum of the wheel, and the summer weather,
The hearts first trouble, and loves beginning
Are ali in harmony linked together;
And now it is she herself that is spinning.
With the bloom of youth on cheek and lip,
Turning the spokes with the flashing pin,
Twisting the thread from the spindle-up,
Stretching it out and winding it in,
To and fro, with blithesome tread,
,rrul,, a,,lh ho-h hoor : frrn
And many long drawn golden thread
OF fancy is spun with the shining wool.
Her father sits in his faEoriie place,
Putting his pipe by the chimney side;
Through curing clonds his kindly face
CLOVIS upon her with love and pride.
Lulled by the wheel, in the old arm chair
Her mother is musing, cat in lap,
With beautiful dropping head and hair
Whitening under her snOw=white cap.
One by one, to the grave, to the bridal,
They have followed her sisters from the door;
Now they are old, and she is their idol
1t all comes back on her heart once more,
In The autumn dusk the iearth CLEANS brightly,
The wheel is set by the shadowy wall
A hand at the latch-tis lifted lightly,
Andin walks Benjie, manly anu tail.
His chair is placed; the old man tips
The pitcher, and brings his choicest fruit;
BenJie basks IN the blaze, and sips
And tells his story, and joints his flute;
o, sweet the tunes, the talk. the laughter;
They fl Ii the hour with a glowing tide;
But sweeter the still, deep moments after,
Wien she is alone by Benjie's side.
But once with angry words they part;
o, then the weary, weary daysl
Ever with restless, wretched heart,
= Plying her task, she turns to gaze
Far up the road, and early and late
She harks for footstep at the door,
And starts at the gust that swings the gate,
And prays for Benjie who comes no more.
Her fault7 o BenjieI and could you steel
Your thoughts toward one who loved you SO p
solace she seeks in the whirling wheel,
In duty and love that tighten woe;
Striving withlabor, not in vain,
To drive away the dull days dreariness-
Blessing the toll that blunts the pain
OF deeper grief in the body's weariness.
Proud, and petted, and spoiled was she;s
word, and alIher life is changedl
His wayering love too easily
In the great. gaycity grows estranged;
One year: she sis in the old church pew;
rustic, murmur-0 Dorothy ! hide
Your face and shut from your soul the viewl
lis Benjie leading white-veiled bridel
Now father and mother have long been dead,
And the bride sleeps under churchyard stone,
And bent old man with grtzzled head
Walks up the long dim aisle alone.
Years blur to mist; and Dorothy
Sits doubling betwixt the ghost she seems
AnG the phantom Of youth; more real than she
That meets her there in that haunt dreams.
Bright young Dorothy, idolized daughter
Sought by many a youthful adorer,
Life, like a risen dawn on the water,
Shining an endless vista before heri
Old Maid Dorothy, Wrinkled and gray
Creeping under the farm house caves
And life is 4 brief November day
That sets on a world Of withered leayesI
Yet faithfulness in the humblest part
Is better at last than proud success,
And patience and love in a chastened heart
Are pearls more precious than happiness;
And in that morning when she shall wake
To the Apringtime freshness of youth again,
All trouble will seem but flying fake,
And lifelong sorrow breath on the pane.