Page:Household Words - Volume 12.djvu/612

30 [Dec. 15, 1855.] and encouraging through the times of their difficulty and depression, and saying "Thank God for all this!" the pressure was as affectionately and gratefully returned. Then my brother and his wife rose up, and passed into the blaze of light which surrounded the gay and youthful company within. 



was a pretty, gentle girl—a farmer's orphan daughter, and the landlord's niece—whom I strongly suspected of being engaged to be married very shortly, to the writer of the letter that I saw her reading at least twenty times, when I passed the bar, and which I more than believe I saw her kiss one night. She told me a tale of that country which went so pleasantly to the music of her voice, that I ought rather to say it turned itself into verse, than was turned into verse by me.

A little past the village The inn stood, low and white, Green shady trees behind it, And an orchard on the right, Where over the green paling The red-cheeked apples hung, As if to watch how wearily The sign-board creaked and swung.

The heavy-laden branches Over the road hung low, Reflecting fruit or blossom In the wayside well below; Where children, drawing water, Looked up and paused to see, Amid the apple branches, A purple Judas Tree.

The road stretch'd winding onward For many a weary mile— So dusty footsore wanderers Would pause and rest awhile; And panting horses halted, And travellers loved to tell The quiet of the wayside inn, The orchard, and the well.

Here Maurice dwelt; and often The sunburnt boy would stand Gazing upon the distance, And shading with his hand His eyes, while watching vainly For travellers, who might need His aid to loose the bridle, And tend the weary steed. And once (the boy remember'd  That morning many a day— The dew lay on the hawthorn,   The bird sang on the spray) A train of horsemen, nobler Than he had seen before, Up from the distance gallopp'd,  And paused before the door. Upon a milk-white pony, Fit for a faery queen, Was the loveliest little damsel His eyes had ever seen; A servant-man was holding The lending rein, to guide The pony and its mistress Who cantered by his side.

Her sunny ringlets round her A golden cloud had made, While her large hat was keeping Her calm blue eyes in shade; One hand held firm the silken reins To keep her steed in check, The other pulled his tangled mane, Or stroked his glossy neck.

And as the boy brought water, And loosed the rein, he heard The sweetest voice, that thank'd him In one low gentle word; She turned her blue eyes from him, Look'd up, and smiled to see The hanging purple blossoms Upon the Judas Tree.

And show'd it with a gesture, Half pleading, half command, Till he broke the fairest blossom, And laid it in her hand; And she tied it to her saddle With a ribbon from her hair, While her happy laugh rang gaily, Like silver on the air. But the champing steeds were rested— The horsemen now spurr'd on, And down the dusty highway They vanish'd and were gone. Years pass'd, and many a traveller Paused at the old inn-door, But the little milk-white pony And the child return'd no more.

Years pass'd, the apple branches A deeper shadow shed; And many a time the Judas Tree, Blossom and leaf lay dead; When on the loitering western breeze Came the bells' merry sound, And flowery arches rose, and flags And banners waved around.

And Maurice stood expectant, The bridal train would stay Some moments at the inn-door, The eager watchers say; They come—the cloud of dust draws near— 'Mid all the state and pride, He only sees the golden hair And blue eyes of the bride.

The same, yet, ah! still fairer, He knew the face once more That bent above the pony's neck Years past at the inn-door: Her shy and smiling eyes look'd round, Unconscious of the place— Unconscious of the eager gaze He fix'd upon her face.

He pluck'd a blossom from the tree— The Judas Tree—and cast Its purple fragrance towards the bride, A message from the Past. 