Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/38

 To each in turn, and said: “You must not stand Longer, young ladies, in this open door. The air is heavy with a cold, damp chill. We shall have rain to-morrow, or before. Good-night.”

He vanished in the darkling shade; And so the dreaded evening found an end, That saw me grasp the conscience-whetted blade, And strike a blow for honour and for friend.

“How swiftly passed the evening!” Helen sighed. “How long the hours!” my tortured heart replied. Joy, like a child, with lightsome steps doth glide By Father Time, and, looking in his face, Cries, snatching blossoms from the fair roadside, “I could pluck more, but for thy hurried pace.” The while her elder brother Pain, man grown, Whose feet are hurt by many a thorn and stone, Looks to some distant hilltop, high and calm, Where he shall find not only rest, but balm For all his wounds, and cries, in tones of woe, “Oh, Father Time! why is thy pace so slow?”

Two days, all sad with lonely wind and rain, Went sobbing by, repeating o’er and o’er The miserere, desolate and drear, Which every human heart must sometime hear. Pain is but little varied. Its refrain, Whate’er the words are, is for aye the same. The third day brought a change, for with it came Not only sunny smiles to Nature’s face, But Roy, our Roy came back to us. Once more We looked into his laughing, handsome eyes, Which, while they gave Aunt Ruth a glad surprise In no way puzzled her, for one glance told What each succeeding one confirmed, that he Who bent above her with the lissome grace Of his fine form, though grown so tall, could be No other than the Roy Montaine of old.

It was a sweet reunion, and he brought So much of sunshine with him that I caught, Just from his smile alone, enough of gladness To make my heart forget a time its sadness. We talked together of the dear old days: