POETRY.

Thames Guardian and Mining Record, Volume I, Issue 136, 16 March 1872, Page 3

POETRY.

THE SHADOW ON THE WALL. Aly home a stately dwelling is, With lofty arching doors ; There is carvings on the ceilings high, And velvet on the iloors ; A rich and costly building, . Where noiseless servants wait,

And ’neath the escutcheon’s guildiug None enter but the great. But a happier home is near it, a humble cot-

tage small, And 1 envy its sweet mistress the shadows on her wall.

My pictures arc the pride of Art, And drawn by cunning hands ; But the painted figures never move, Nor change the painted lauds ; Before the poorest window Alore gorgeous pageants glide. "Within the lowliest household Alore lifelike groups abide ; And I turn from soulless symbols, that crowd my gloomy hall. To watch the shifting shadows upon the cottage wall.

Aly stately husband never bends To kiss me on the lips ; Ilis heart is in his iron safe, His thought are with his ships ; But when the twilight gathers Atliwn the dusky street, The little housewife listens For sounds of coming feet; And by the gleaming firelight 1 see a figure tall Bend down to kiss a shadow, a shadow on the wall.

Aly garden palings, broad and high, Shut in its costly spoils, And through the ordered paths all .day The silent gardener toils ; My neighbour’s is a grass-plat, With a hardy buttercup, "Where children’s dimpled lingers Pull dandelions up—- " Where on a baby’s silken head, all day the sunbeams fall, Till evening throws its shadows upon the cottage wall.

My petted lapdog, warm aud soft, Nestles upon my knee ; My birds have shut tlieir diamond eyes That love to look for me ; Lonely, I watch my ueigiitiour, Aud watching can but weep, To sec her rock her darlings Upon her breast asleep. Alas 1 my doves are gentle, my dog comes at my call. But there is no childish shadow upon my chamber wall.

My beauty is the talk of fools, Aud by the gaslight’s glare, In glittering dress and gleaming gems, 1 know that I am fair ; But there is something fairer, Whose charm in loving lies, And there is something dearer, The light of happy eyes. So I return triumphant, queen of the brilliant ball, To envy the sweet shadow of the housewife on the wall.

My eaithly lot is rich aud high, Aud hers is poor aud low ; Yet I would give my heritage Her deeper joys to know ; For husbands that arc lovers Are rare in all the lands, And hearts grow lit for heaven, Moulded by childish hands : And while 1 go up lonely, before the judge of all, A cherub troop will usher the shadow on the wall.