Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/302
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On Guard.
At midnight, on my lonely beat,
When shadow wraps the wood and lea,
A vision seems my view to greet
Of one at home that prays for me.
When shadow wraps the wood and lea,
A vision seems my view to greet
Of one at home that prays for me.
No roses bloom upon her cheek—
Her form is not a lover's dream—
But on her face, so fair and meek,
A host of holier beauties gleam.
Her form is not a lover's dream—
But on her face, so fair and meek,
A host of holier beauties gleam.
For softly shines her silver hair,
A patient smile is on her face,
And the mild, lustrous light of prayer,
Around her sheds a moon-like grace.
A patient smile is on her face,
And the mild, lustrous light of prayer,
Around her sheds a moon-like grace.
She prays for one that's far away,
The soldier in his holy fight—
And begs that Heaven in mercy may
Protect her boy and bless the Right.
The soldier in his holy fight—
And begs that Heaven in mercy may
Protect her boy and bless the Right.
Till, though the leagues lie far between,
This silent incense of her heart
Steals o'er my soul with breath serene,
And we no longer are apart.
This silent incense of her heart
Steals o'er my soul with breath serene,
And we no longer are apart.
So guarding thus my lonely beat,
By shadowy wood and haunted lea,
That vision seems my view to greet,
Of her at home who prays for me.
By shadowy wood and haunted lea,
That vision seems my view to greet,
Of her at home who prays for me.
The Patter of Little Feet.
Up with the sun in the morning,
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleeping blossoms
Have begun to open their eyes,
Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and fleet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.
Now to the brook he wanders,
In swift and noiseless flight,
Splashing the sparkling ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleeping blossoms
Have begun to open their eyes,
Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and fleet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.
Now to the brook he wanders,
In swift and noiseless flight,
Splashing the sparkling ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.