The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1871-05-31
MAY 81, 1871,

rrrom the Atlantic Monthly lot 'u"e'I
Mehefabea.
nyLucy LAaooM.
,,,t.,ng lies loose In her hand;
Achrts,nES. the gold of a broken red bTah" -
s''e hist gl!tters and hashes'
And falls into ashes.
The asme that illumnes h"r race
rron, the csverncus black fireplace
Rr,ngs ever new wonders OF color s,, d s s.Is
70 flicker abou. her, ana sn'mn'er a''
Does any ono guess
or this maids lovcltness Jaw, Gamma 20
Tin. the lonesome and smoky old room see"n' ~
E.a, c,s,.er Of I've and Kettle and broom
From her fairy and worry
Cr work s-dsy hurry ~
NW ~, W. ais the re in dream,
with needles half rosn nat To 1t to Try her
y I'm no.u All she set The river sfre.'
' kn,, back 10 the din
1917 a. s,Isr' ts out, while another steals in,
mesr,asers lover through ne~-fsl!en snow
S lilly has come that the maid does not know
>' He is standing behind her,
SO happy TO end her .,
Alone. thSt he hardly can speak.
4 whisper a flush on her check
m MS' nctTy he nrmmrs. tne white evening star
And the heacon-lights swim
On the oceans blue rim.
Bat see your sweet eyes. and they make the stars
aim.
Mehetsoel's wooer is etalwart and tall
His figure looms dark on the fame lighted wall;
Outside in pale shadow
Lie pasture snd meadow;
Dim roSelight Is on the white hill
The sea gnmeIs purple and chill.
Though cold be the wide world, my hearts love Is
Knit me into your dream. -.+
And my rude life will seem
Like beautiful landscape In 'une's go'oen
Mcherx bel. forehead has cathereIa cloud;
Il thousand new thoughts 10 her young bosom
Hex knitting drops lower:
No lover can show her
The way through her minds iowly maze,
he re tGs no response In her gaze.
Her hear Is a snowdritt where foot never trod,
l. IVES sun has not Weakened u bud on its 500;
Apdpnrc as the glow
OF the stars on the snow ,.
Are the chances that up through her long lashes go
Mehetabel's future. and uneSpiored land,
Spreads vaguely before her. unpeopled ana grand
Its wild paths wai lonely
For hsr footsteps only;
She must weave cut the web OF her dream,
Though Gtmsy and worthless II seem
TO her mothers eye, filed with the dust-motes
Though i, bar up her path from the heart that beat
there
in the gathering gloom,
Breathing odor and bloom
And sweet sense of life through the dusk OF tn
room.
Only hall to herself is unwo1nd The BIZ ht skeiu
She is but woman,
AS gentle US human,
Yet rooted In hearts fresh as hers
Is the hope that the universe StirS;
And broad be her thought rs !ifc's measures
zone,
Or narrow rs SELF is, Il still is her own;
And alone she may dare
" hat she never would share
With friendship the dearest or love the most rare
Mehetahel's answer 1t has not been told;
10 ashes has fallen the lreishl's red gold.
No mother, no lover,
For her, The world over,
The work-a.day jangle is still,
An empty house stanas on the hill.
The raitefs are ccbwebbed the ceiling Is bare,
Sut always wrath hauntS the caryed-oake
chair;
And early and late
There's a creak ut the gate,
And wnd through the room like soft sigh {
''Watt.'
MehetaDle-He.ty-the dream OF dream,
The MIN Of snow-clOud. stars broken beam,
Were tangible story
To hers but the glory
Of ages dlmS down to d spark,
Aud dies out al last in the dark.
Among questions unanswered, unrealiZed dream!
XIII! the beautiful chest OF what may Oc and us
Flashes up on nights brink,
Where the live embers blink.
And the tales tnat they mutter, we dream that W
think.