The new North-west. [volume] (Deer Lodge, Mont.) 1869-1897, 1882-06-02
THE TRAGEDY.

Sir Cresus and Sir Pandarus-
And the music played apace.
But OF all that crowd only saw
A single, single face.
Twas that Of a girl whom had known
In the summers long ago,
When her breath was like the new-mow
hay,
Or the daintiest flowers that grow
When her heart was light, and her so,
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.
The years went by and the maiden grew
Like hairbell in the glade;
The chestnut shadows crept in her eyes
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
or her grandsire's life-the poor old man
Whose toll was nearly done.
n
He watched her in the clover patch,
And among the tasseled corn;
And in the lawns where apple-blooms
Were 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 fill with pride
To see her walk with the man she loved
To see them side by side.
Sweet Heaven she were an angelnow
If she had only died!
If she had only diedl Alas,
How keen must be the woe
That makes it better one should lie
Where the sunshine can not go,
Than to live in this pleasant, sunny world,
Where the happy flowers blow!
Would she had wed some country boor
Before the 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 astrayl
God dropped a pearl in his path of life,
The heart Of that sinless child,
And he threw 1t away with n cruel laugh
He murdered while he SMILED!
Oh, but his words were soft as dew,
And his voice was frank aud 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;
Never saw his pet in the clover-patch,
In the meadow nor the lane.
And day by day he looked for her,
This pitiful old man;
At last he died and they buried him
Where the silver waters ran.
Many time, like milk-white birds,
The daisies flew away,
And we never heard of he who fed
In the night with Clarence Maye-
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 troubled look;
And / read the history of her life
AS it were an open book;
And saw her Soul, like slimy thing,
In the bottom Of a brook.
There she sat in her glistening silk,
With emeralds on her wrist,
And on her brow slender thread
Ofpearl and amethyst.
A cheat, a gilded griefw said I,
And my eyes were filed with mist.
l could not see the players play;
could hear the music moan
Moan like dismal winter wind,
That dies in the woods alone;
And when it stopped hear 1t still,
The mournful monotone.
What II the Count were true or false?
! did not care, not i;
What If Camille for Armand died?
did not see her die.
There sat woman opposite
Who held me with her eye. ~
The great green curtain fell on all
On laugh, and wine, and woe
Just az death some day will fall
Twixt us and life, I know.
The play was done-the bitter play
And the people turned to go.
And did they see the Tragedy?
They saw the painted scene;
They saw Armand, the jealons fool,
And the sick Partisan queen;
But they did not see the tragedy
The one Isaw, mean.
They did not see that cold-cut face,
TIA -.a ..aran,, nra;Is IF hair.
Or, seeing her jewels, only said:
" The ladys rich and fair"
But tell you, twas the Play of Life,
And that woman played Despair!