The Story of a Picture. POEM FOR RECITATION.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1839, 19 April 1884, Page 6 (Supplement)

The Story of a Picture. POEM FOR RECITATION.

'Twas late on a wintry evening, The pitiless rain fell fast, And sweeping round every corner, Came the bitter November blast, The Bhops were brilliantly lighted, With the flaming gas turned high, Displaying their warmth and comfort To each comfortless passer-by. The rattle and roar of the traffic Came dull through the rainy street, And the slippery flag-stone 3 echoed With the clatter of hurring feet. And away in the misty distance, Like the stars of the clouded night, The myraid lamps of the city Where shining with lustre bright. To gaze in a gay shop-window, A desolate crowd had stayed, And among them a woman lingered To glance at the things displayed. A woman with grim starvation Writ on her beautiful face, A woman whom trouble and sorrow, Had robbed of her girlish grace. A row of theatrical pictures Had attracted the little' throng, Of heroes and heroines, famous In drama and dance and song. And over the woman's features A look of misery fell, For she saw in the group of actors, A man she had once known well. Back o'er her memory flitted The scenes of the bygone years, As she gazod with throbbing pulses, Through a mist of bitter tears. The days of her happy girlhood, When life was so bright and so gay, Events in that sweet existence Forgotten this many a day. Then the long, long years of trouble, Of misery, want, and care, That had wasted her pretty figure And silvered her nutbrown hair. Of the swift and reckless changes, From the honoured name she bore, To the ruin that lay behind her. And the grim starvation before. The crowd passed onward and left her To stand their silent still, The cold rain lashing against her, As she leant on the narrow sill, Heedless of all around her, Checking the tears that start, As she looks on the face of the lover, Who first won her pure young heart. It was on her seventeenth birthday, Now six long winters past, That she saw him first as the hero Of a play in a famous cast. He was handsome andclevtr and graceful, His voice was tender and sweet, She can hear it still in fancy Through the heavy noise of the street. 'Twas long ere she came to know him, * They moved in a different set, % And though often she saw him acting, 'Twas a year before they met. ,He fell in love with her straightaway, And feared not his love to tell, What wonder he made her love him, He knew how to woo so well. But she had a richer lover, Who had run through a mad, wild life, He loved her because of her beauty, And asked her to be his wife. And because of his wealth and riches, She listened to all he said, Forgetting the penniless actor, She gave him her hand instead. She married as many a girl does, For all that his wealth would buy ; But she never could love her husband, Though she honestly meant to try. For she found he was wild and wicked, One of a lawless crew, That his comrades were reckless fellows, And his fortune a fiction too. And the lovely country lassio Grew paler day by day, The life of disgrace and horror Was chasing her health away. At first he treated her kindly, Then, finding she loathed him so, He rained down oaths and reproaches, And many a brutal blow. Now he had left her for ever, To starve or beg for her bread, Homeless, friendless, and dying, With nowhere to rest her head. She had begged a few shillings this evening, And, shivering past in the rain, She saw in the gay shop-window The face of her lover again. Then a sudded hope came round her, That perhaps he loved her still, Might be willing to help her a little, Although she'd behaved so ill. She read his name on a poster By the light of a flaring jet, Then buying the coverted picture, She turned to the wind and the wet, To wait till the play was over, She stood at the dark stage-door, Till her limbs were numb and aohing, And at last she could stand no more. ' So, paying her only shilling, She crept to the crowded pit, To a region of fairy brilliance, Whefe a thousand lamps were lit. The curtain was up already, The stagB was a splendid scene, With a shimmering sea in the distance, And in front a bower of green; And there was the man Bhe worshipped, With the light on his handsome face, Playing his role of lover With his easy and manly grace. She watched with a hungry yearning, The love in his. glorious eyes, Striving to keep down and strangle, The heartbroken sobs that rise. Noting the play of the shadows On his bright uncovered hair, Dreading lest he should see her Sitting and trembling there. At last the drama was ended, 'Mid a yelling peal of applause, And the audience, jostling and pushing, Crowded to reach the doors. The woman sat still without moving, Bending her weary Kead, And when they bade her ba going, They found she was cold and dead, She had seen (he name of the aotor She'd loved all her sorrowful life, And further down on the playbill The name of her hero's wife, She had died in that hour of pleasure, And gone to a happier land ; Biit they found her darlragVpioture ' Clapped iri-her wasted hand. $*;—B. y.ihrtheTheatK.