POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2515, 29 April 1882, Page 3

POETRY.

THE UNBIDDEN QUEST. By OABLOTTA PBBBY. Within my home that empty seemed, I sat And prayed for greater blessings. All That was mine own seemed poor and mean and small ; And I cried out rebelliously for that I had not, saying if great gifts of gold Were only mine, journeys in far off lands, Were also mine, with rest for burdened hands; If love, the love I craved, would come and fold

Its arms around me ; then would joy abide With mo for ever; peace would come and bless. And life would round oat from this narrowness Into a fullness new and sweet and wide.

And so I fretted ’gainst my simple lot, And so I prayrd for fairer, broader ways, Making a burden of the very days. In mad regret for that which I had not. And then one came unto my humble door And asked to enter. “Art thou love P” I cried, “Or wealth or fame ? Else shall thou be denied.” She answered, “Nay, my child; but I am more.

“ Open to me, I pray : make me thy guest, And thou shall find, although no gift of gold, Or fame, or love, within my hand I hold. That with my coming oometh all the best “ That thou hast longed for.” Fair, tho’ grave, her face, Soft was her voice, and in her stedfast eye I saw the look of one both true and wise. My heart was sore, and so, with tardy grace, I bade her enter. How transfigured Seemed now the faithful love that at my feet So long had lain unprized! How wide and sweet Shone the small paths wherein I had been led

Duty grew beautiful; with calm consent I saw the distant wealth of land and sea. But all fair things seemed given unto me The hour I clasped the hand of dear Content, UPON MY WORD SHE DID I BY MAEGABKT EYTINOB. Her hair was black. “But black,” she sighed “ la very much too cold And so she bleached her locks until They looked almost like gold, A simple satin robe she wore, Which closely to her clung (In fact it was extremely scant), And from her belt a lily pale And four sunflowers hung— Four big sunflowers hung.

She would not touch a bit of meat. But oft she’d sit and weep, To think that the bailed chops were once Part of a baby sheep. “ And oh! ” she’d moan, “ these searAd steaks, So full of gravy now ” (This was a slight mistake, I think), “ Once wandered o’er the fields and meads, Attached to a cow— A gentle browsing cow,”

She was a most poetic thing ; She wouldn’t harm a fly ; “ Its life is short at best,” she’d say—- “ Oh, pray don’t make it die !’’ The very oat for catching mice In tearful voice she chid, And then at last she married (And seemed quite glad to get him, too), A butcher; yes, she did— Upon my word she did 1 —" Harper’s Magazine."