POETRY.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 81, 3 September 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

THE WIFE. From school, and ball, and rout she came, The city’s fair, pale daughter, To drink the wine of mountain air, Beside the Bearcamp Water. Her step grew firmer on the hills That watch our homesteads over, On cheek and lip, from summer fields, She caught the bloom of clover. For health comes sparkling in the streams From cool Chacorna stealing, There’s iron in our Northern winds— Our pines are trees of healing. She sat beneath the broad-armed elms, That skirt the mowing meadow, And watched the gentle west wind weave The grass with shine and shadow. Beside her from the summer heat, To share her grateful screening, With forehead bared, the farmer stood, Upon his pitchfork leaning. Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face Had nothing mean or common, Strong, manly, true, the tenderness And pride beloved of women, She looked up, glowing with the health The country air had brought her, And, laughing, said —‘ You lack a wife, Your mother lacks a daughter. ‘ To mend your frock, and bake your bread You do not need a lady ; Be sure, among those brown old homes Is some one waiting ready — Some fair, sweet girl, with skilful hand And cheerful heart for treasure, Who never played with ivory keys, Or danced the polka’s measure He bent his black brows to a frown, He set his white teeth tightly ; ‘ ’Tis well,’ he said, * for one like you To choose for me so lightly. ‘You think, because my life is rude, I take no note of sweetness ; I tell you love has naught to do With meetness or unmeetness. ‘ Itself its best excuse, it asks No leave of pride and fashion, When silken zone or homespun frock It stirs with throbs of passion. ‘ You think me deaf and blind ;you bring Your winning graces hither As free as if from cradle-time We two had played together. ‘You tempt me with your laughing eyes, Your cheek of sundown’s blushes ; A motion as of waving grain, A music as of thrushes. ‘ The plaything of your summer sport, The spells you weave around me, You cannot of your will undo, Nor leave me as you found me. ‘ You go as lightly as you came, Your life is well without me ; What care you that these hills will close Like prison walls about me? ‘No mood is mine to seek a wife, Or daughter for my mother ; Who loves you loses in that love All power to love another. ‘ I dare your pity or your scorn With pride your own exceeding ; I fling my heart into your lap Without a word of pleading.’ She looked upon the waving grass So archly, yet so tender ‘And I will give you mine,’ she said ; Will you forgive the lender ? ‘ Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; And see you not, my farmer, How weak and fond a woman waits Behind the silken armour ? ‘ I love you ; on that love, And not my worth presuming Will you not trust for summer fruit The tree in May-day blooming V Al6ne the hangbird overhead, His hair swung cradle straining, Looked down to see love’s miracle— The giving that is gaining. And so the farmer found a wife, His mother found a daughter ; There looks no happier home than hers On pleasant Bearcamp Water. Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty ; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty. Our homes are cheerier for her sake, Our door-yards brighter blooming, And all about the social air Is sweeter for her coming. John G. Whittier.