Читать книгу Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving, with Other Ballads and Poems - Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 4

     I am glad that you have come,

       Arthur, from the dusty town;

     You must throw aside your cares,

       And relax your legal frown.

     Coke and Littleton, avaunt!

       You have ruled him through the day;

     In this quiet, sylvan haunt,

       Be content to yield your sway.

     It is pleasant, is it not,

       Sitting here beneath the trees,

     While the restless wind above

       Ripples over leafy seas?

     Often, when the twilight falls,

       In the shadow, quite alone,

     I have sat till starlight came,

       Listening to its monotone.

     Yet not always quite alone,—

       Brother, let me take the place

     Just behind you now the moon

       Shines no longer in my face.

     It is near two months ago

       Since I met him, as I think,

     By God's mercy, when my horse

       Trembled on the river's brink.

     I had fallen, but his arm

       Firmly seized the bridle-rein,

     And, with one decided grasp,

       Drew me back to life again.

     I was grateful and essayed

       Fitting words my thanks to speak.

     Arthur, when the heart feels most,

       Words, I think, are oftenest weak.

     So I stammered and I fear,

       What I said had little grace

     But I knew he understood,

       By the smile upon his face.

     There are faces—his was such—

       That are sealed when in repose;

     Only when a smile floods out,

       All the soul in beauty glows.

     With that smile I grew content,

       And my heart grew strangely calm,

     As with trustful step I walked,

       My arm resting on his arm.

     Brother, turn your face away,

       So, dear, I can tell you best

     All that followed; but be sure

       You are looking to the west.

     Arthur, I have seen him since,

       Nearly every day, until

     If I lose him, all my life

       Would grow wan, and dark, and chill.

     Brother, this my love impute

       Not to me for maiden-shame;

     He has sought me for his wife,

       He would crown me with his name.

     Only yesterday he said

       That my love his life would bless:

     Would I grant it? Arthur, dear,

       Was I wrong in saying "Yes"?