Pipes O'Pan At Zekesbury Part 3

Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, And swaying listlessly as might a swing Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.

Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, And from the covert of the hazel-thicket The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.

The b.u.mble-bee that tipped the lily-vases Along the road-side in the shadows dim, Went following the blossoms of their faces As though their sweets must needs be shared with him.

Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.

And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, And folded all the landscape from their eyes, They only know the dusky path before them Was leading safely on to Paradise.

THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW.

"--_And any little tiny kickshaws_."--Shakespeare.

O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie, The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.

'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be-- Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.

O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie, But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.

HIS MOTHER.

DEAD! my wayward boy--_my own_-- Not _the Law's!_ but _mine_--the good G.o.d's free gift to me alone, Sanctified by motherhood.

"Bad," you say: Well, who is not?

"Brutal"--"with a heart of stone"-- And "red-handed."--Ah! the hot Blood upon your own!

I come not, with downward eyes, To plead for him shamedly,-- G.o.d did not apologize When He gave the boy to me.

Simply, I make ready now For _His_ verdict.--_You_ prepare-- You have killed us both--and how Will you face us There!

KISSING THE ROD.

O heart of mine, we shouldn't Worry so!

What we've missed of calm we couldn't Have, you know!

What we've met of stormy pain, And of sorrow's driving rain, We can better meet again, If it blow!

We have erred in that dark hour We have known, When our tears fell with the shower, All alone!-- Were not shine and shadow blent As the gracious Master meant?-- Let us temper our content With His own.

For, we know, not every morrow Can be sad; So, forgetting all the sorrow We have had, Let us fold away our fears, And put by our foolish tears, And through all the coming years Just be glad.

HOW IT HAPPENED.

I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!

I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone!

I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one, And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!

And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline!

I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she 'd never see again-- Maybe sometimes cry together--though, far the most part she Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!

I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life Far a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- 'Less some one married _Evaline_, and packed her off some day!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened thataway.

BABYHOOD.

Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away.

Turn back the leaves of life; don't read the story,-- Let's find the _pictures_, and fancy all the rest:-- We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best!

Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees.

Turn to the lane, where we used to "teeter-totter,"

Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water Where the ripples dimple round the b.u.t.tercups of gold:

Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died.

Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away.