Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/620

612 countrymen on board, and then the worthy minister at St. Louis took charge of them; but they sometimes miss, even in all his kindness, the tenderness of their mother, Bertha, and the fond sympathy of their father, Carl; and regret bitterly that, when asked of their father and mother, they can only say: “They were German Emigrants, and were buried on the banks of the Mississippi,”—as how many have been and are still to be! 2em

—a pause—a flutter and a sigh, A voice that trembles in the common greeting; The hurried clasp of an unready hand, That once was frankly offered at your meeting.

I saw you, little Annie-yes, I know, He’s Charlie’s friend, just landed from Bengal, He’s very fond of Charlie, ah! and so He stay’d till last at Charlie’s sister’s ball.

You danced eight times together-am I right “He’s such a perfect waltzer”—nothing more? You met a week ago this very night, And I have—known you all your lifetime o’er!

Forgive me that I played the list’ner, dear, And heard him win your love, amongst your flowers; You had forgotten I was prisoned here, A poor lone cripple all these festive hours.

He’s very winsome, honest-eyed, and tall, The cross for valour’s roll contains his story. On my pain-stricken brow no wreath will fall, I reap in Life’s grim battle all but glory.

Dearie, don’t kneel, and hide those kind grey eyes I am not grieving, look me in the face. Why, who am I, that I should claim the prize, Who never could have started in the race?

He’s waiting for you, Annie—leave me now Alone with what must he a happy past. A brother’s kiss I claim upon your brow, God bless you, Annie, ’tis my first—and last. A. F.