Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/484
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THE PILGRIM.
A peach-red cheek, with a dimpled.chin,
And a loving heart, oh! so pure within—
How sweet to sit once more beside her,
Calmly sucking a brandy spider.
And a loving heart, oh! so pure within—
How sweet to sit once more beside her,
Calmly sucking a brandy spider.
Cunningly twisted, and curled, and braided,
Her brow with its golden hair is shaded;
In every gesture a sparkling grace
Lights up with rapture the maiden's face;
And the birds themselves burst into song
As her tiny feet tripped gay along;
But we—quick slipped from that bright spot,
And, trembling, called for something hot.
Her brow with its golden hair is shaded;
In every gesture a sparkling grace
Lights up with rapture the maiden's face;
And the birds themselves burst into song
As her tiny feet tripped gay along;
But we—quick slipped from that bright spot,
And, trembling, called for something hot.
She, too, is gone, and I still remain
Dragging along at my weary chain;
No more I'll bask in her eyes' sweet glance,
Nor watch her form through the mazy dance;
I backward glance at those memories green,
And sadly murmur, "It might have been"—
It might have been, oh! it might have been,
But a parent stern stepped in between.
Dragging along at my weary chain;
No more I'll bask in her eyes' sweet glance,
Nor watch her form through the mazy dance;
I backward glance at those memories green,
And sadly murmur, "It might have been"—
It might have been, oh! it might have been,
But a parent stern stepped in between.
Fast gathered home to his fellow clay,
That parent stern hath passed away;
His peach-cheeked child, with the laughing eye,
Cares little, I ween, for my doleful sigh;
For her hair's as curled—her cheek's as red,
As when at her feet my vows were shed—
While I to a shadow vile am grown,
She'd kick down the beam at fifteen stone!
That parent stern hath passed away;
His peach-cheeked child, with the laughing eye,
Cares little, I ween, for my doleful sigh;
For her hair's as curled—her cheek's as red,
As when at her feet my vows were shed—
While I to a shadow vile am grown,
She'd kick down the beam at fifteen stone!
The Pilgrim.
The night was dark, and drear the heath,
And sudden howled the wind,
When o'er the wold a pilgrim strayed,
Some friendly inn to find.
And sudden howled the wind,
When o'er the wold a pilgrim strayed,
Some friendly inn to find.
He hastened to a feeble light,
That glimmered from afar,
By which he viewed a sign project,
And found it was the Star.
That glimmered from afar,
By which he viewed a sign project,
And found it was the Star.
Good fare was there for man and horse,
And rest for weary bones;
A famed and long established house,
And kept by Mary Jones.
And rest for weary bones;
A famed and long established house,
And kept by Mary Jones.