Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/648

 632 M. LOUISA CHIT WOOD. [1850-60. Wilt thou fawn meekly, humbly As I look to thee, my dearest, To that thy heart must hate ? And w^orship from afar. Wilt thou bow to the oppressor Jennie, darling — With courtly beck and nod ? And worship from afar. No ! stand like some strong mountain, And bow to none but God ! Perhaps thy dark brown lashes Lie softly on thy cheek ; Onward ! let slander's arrows Then let thy spirit listen, Pass by in silent scorn ; And hear me as I speak, Let malice die in darkness, Jennie, darling — It was in darkness born ; And hear me as I speak. Let Falsehood perish wa-ithing 'Neath Truth's unsparing rod, Oh ! let me, let me love thee, She is the best avenger : And worship from afar ; Bow thou to none but God ! For thou art far above me As yonder beauteous star. Onward ! and plant thy harvest, Jennie, darhng — Whate'er the world may say ; As yonder beauteous star. No serpent's hiss beguile thee A moment from thy way. And let me pour my spirit If the way be very humble In one deep song to thee ; O'er which thy feet have trod, Give but one glance, one token Go on, with soul unbending. My talisman to be. And bow to none but God ! Jennie, darling — My talisman to be. No, never ! while thy bosom Has a heart-throb within, She hears ! she smiles ! my spirit Let thy free tongue be silent Soars like a bird afar ! When the rich and mighty sin. I half forget the distance Look up ! nor fear nor falter, Between me and the star. Though a monarch press the sod; Jennie, darling — He is but man, weak, erring : Between me and the star. Bow thou to none but God ! Good-night ! — or is it morning ? The landscape looks so bright, Or is it those dear glances Emitting glorious light. SERENADE. Jennie, darling? My soul is bathed in light. The breeze is singing softly To the young bird on the tree ; And if the breeze is singing, Shall not I sing to thee. THAT LITTLE H.^'D. Jennie, darling? 7 O Shall not I sing to thee ? His little hand, so frail and foir ! O I held it when he died, The humble flower is looking As, with an agonizing prayer. Toward the evening star, I knelt me by his side.