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FAITH.-—MODEBN

LOVE. Mr. Smith’s eyes turn to me, and Albert saw them too. He looked guilty. He knew he had no right to even hint a word against his wife: so he added, to save his credit, ‘My business is so harassing and so confining, that it would cramp my brain into a commercial frenzy if it were not for this blessed relief of the opera.’”

What shall I conclude as to the utility of the opera from this conversation? I don’t know. “It is all a muddle.” I want to banish the whole institution, academy and all, so that Mrs. Lavinia may have one less excuse for her extravagance—but it would go hard with me to refuse its solace to Albert, who, having no peace at home, must either go there for amusement, or to places less innocent, clubs and billiard rooms, where there is not the holy influence of music and ‘the ghoul sensuality” is hostess. He can stay at home and become a martyr killed N by inches if he retain his sense and sensibility, or an automaton calculating machine, heartless and soulless, if he lose them. But I would not like to be the one to condemn him to “evenings at home,” which would have either result. -

FAITH. sr MISS Man! a. Larnauar'.

I am waiting for thee, darling, I am waiting for thee, love; And the night, starlit and lonely, Darkeneth through the deep above: And the hours have driven the sunlight From the laughing West away; And hath crowned her with a coronal Of pale stars—yet I stay.

I’ve watched here for thee, darling, At many a setting sun; I’ve waited on this cliff for thee Tilt the night was almost done: Yet through the golden-pillared gates No sail e’er came to me; No boat came bounding fleetly o’er The moaning, moonlit sea.

They told me, darling, long ago, That the demon winds and wave, Chanted a low and solemn dirge Above thy nameless grave; And they said my heart was breaking, And that reason‘s light had ﬂed; When I smiled, and said that it was false, That my darling was not dead.

I know thou'rt coming back, love; For yestreen, as I came, The sighing leaves of the rowan tree Were whispering o’er thy name; And I’ve built of them a shadowy bower Beneath the cliffs for thee; And strewn with flowers the lonely path That leads down to the sea.

And thou wilt come to-night, love; Thou can’st not stay away; For I have called unto the waves Thy name, love, all the day; And they have hymned a solemn chant For thy safe coming, sweet; And surging o’er the sands, have cast Their white crowns at my feet.

And I have bound my brow With flowers Like those thou gavest to me Upon that morn of agony When thou wast called to sea. But sing, oh, weary-waiting heart! Oh, tearful eyes, be light! And, oh, my shrinking faith, be true, For he will come tonight!

MODERN LOVE BY

FRANCES

HENRIETTA

Ah! yes, I really was in love, I know it sounds romantic, silly, Bnt sure no stoic could resist Such ﬂounces as encircled Lilly!

She was a witching sprite indeed, With crinoline and rings uncommon, The beau ideal of a belle, Tho‘ not so much perhaps of woman.

I courted her a year or so, And then my angel grew quite chilly; Mad jealousy my breast enflamed, What new Adolph had charmed my Lilly?

I sighed and smiled. and lisped in vain, By-gone oaths were unavailing, ’Twas plain, on courtship’s open sea, Some faster craft was mine entailing.

Just then what patron saint of mine Took me beneath his blessed guidance, Without stiletto, rope, or ﬂood, Of my dread rival I had riddance.

A worthy uncle journeyed East, Got rich and died, (event propitious) Oh! what were uncles born for, but At happy moments to enrich us?

And poor Adolph had lately failed, To faithless banker weakly trusting, And banished from his lady’s smile In sad obscurity was rusting.

I took my hat, and took my purse, Each bill a billet-doux to Lilly; She saw prospective city lots And whispered, “I do love you, Billy."