American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1873-05-17


And Bessie was there, 1 could not see her
winsome, welcoming face,
But the very sense of her presence seemed to
glorify the place; -a
And trembled and flush'd in the foolish way
that lovers understand,
At the gentle sound of her plying voice, and
the touch of her dainty hand.
We sat in the quaint old parlor-ah, how well
l knew it of old
And the good old rector prosed away, about
his church and his fold,
The parish schools, and the state of the roads,
and the probable price of hay, =
Till Bessie at last jump'd up from her chair,
in her old impulsive way.
Come, who's for my summer-house:' she
said; ''fOr it is so hot in here!
What, none of you speak? Then Charlie here
shall be my cavalier.
Mamma, dear, where is that magazine? o,
here it is, l see:
want to read him the poem, you know, that
so delighted metz
Then she took my arm and led me out, with a
tender, sisterly care,
To the dear old garden SO dark to me, to her
SO blooming and fair,
Till We came to the arbor, the scene of some of
my happiest hours o life,
Ere I'd put from my heart its browning hope
of calling her my wife.
and it may have been very fine;
But somehow her sweet voice trembled so
much could hardly follow line;
And at last she gave it up with sigh, and laid
the book away.
81 think it must be the heat" she said, ''but
1 cannot read to-day"'
Then there came a pause-a dreamy pause
when in fancy l could see
The fair flushed face of the gentle friend so
full of pity for me;
Then she laid her dainty hand on mine-her
hand that trembled SOL
And the tears were in her tender voice she
whispered soft and low:
''Charlie, we two are such old, old friends, that
you mustn't think me bold
If j ask you to tell me secret that else would
ever be untold:
What 1t you wanted to say to me that
evening by the mere:
Come, I'm sure you'll tell me, won't you,
now? for should SO like to hear!
What! you dare not tell me, you say!-ah,
well, think / can guess
And, Charlie dear, I'm sure you know my
answer would have been "Yesn'
You know l loved you, without the need of
either promise or vow;
And yet-how cruel, how cruel!-you thought
l should turn away from you nom!
Now, when your poor dark life has need of
tender and trusty guide;
Now, when Pm prouder of your love than
of aught in the world beside;
And did you think that this was the time
should choose to coldly part?
All, tits little indeed you men can know of the
depths Of Il woman's heart!
Charlie, don't think me unwomanly, dear-un-
womanly and weak
Because / give voice to the love l know you
would never speak.
IT'S better than that both our lives should
be forlon and lone;
And soft you care to have me, dear-you
may take me for your own.
What need to tell of my answer, Jack-of my
hearts ecstatic bliss
And nv lips sought hers, and we sealed our
love with first warm, passionate kiss.
While my silent thanks went up to God on the
Jacobs Ladder of prayer
The God who had brighten'd my life with joy
that seemd too great to bear!
And so we were married-Bessic and land
every hour of my life
I'd cause to bless the happy day that brought
me my darling wife:
Such a true and tender helpmeet, shc-so
patient, and ready, and kind,
She almost made me think at times twas
blessing to be blind!
She came with gold in her hand, sweet wife;
but God knows that, far above
The home and the wealth she brought, priced
And she tried to persuade me that L helped to
pay our way, you see,
By the stories and rhymings, grave and gay,
she loved to scribble for me.
And children were born to us-frst a girl,
who'd her mothers eyes, they said;
Twas then that | wept my saddest tears since
Bessie and were wed;
For when they laid the mite in my arms,
and spoke of its baby grace,
1 felt it hard should never look in my little
darling's face;
That never in all the years to come her gentle
face should see
Neer look in her laughing baby eyes as | dane
ed her on my knee;
Nor marked, as the happy years rolId on, each
varying, changing mood
The baby pranks, and the childish grace, and
the blush of maidenhood.
Then our boy was born, and my life stood still,
with a sudden horror and fright
o Jack old man, shall ] ever forget that try
ing, awesome night,
When paced this room here, through and
through, with cropping, helpless dread,
While my darling's precious life upstairs was
hanging on thread?
But God heard my prayers-the blind mans
prayers-and spared her to me, my
sweet,
And our home grew merry with cradle songs
and the patter of little feet;
With the patter of little baby feet, that would
toddle up To my chair,
To lay a little soft head on my knee, that loved
to nestle there.
So the years pass'd on, and even life now often
seemd hard to me;
But when sat in the eventide with my little
ones on my knee,
While Bessie would sing some quaint old
song of love of doughty deed,
I'd think how good and pleasant it was to the
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