The Settler's rifle, bright and brown, And swinging a hand's breadth lower down Bible and Hymn-book, thumbed all through, "Baxter's Call," and a novel or two. "Peter Wilkins," "The Bloody Hand," "The Travels of Lewis and Clarke;" Some tracts among them, "The Milk-maid's Fall," "Pleasure Punished," and " Death at a Ball." A branch of sumach, shining bright, With a string of birds'-eggs, blue and white, You will say the six little heads in a row The boldest urchin dares not stir ; He has rubbed the glass and rubbed the bow, "Come, Molly!" he says, 66 come Sue, come Joe, And I'll tell you of Santa Claus ! " How the faces shine with glad surprise, As if the souls looked out of the eyes. 255 THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. In a trice the dozen ruddy legs Are bare; and speckled and brown And blue and gray, from the wall-side peg And the baby with wondering eyes, looks out "And what will Santa Claus bring?" they tease, And, say, is he tall and fair?" 66 While the younger climb the good man's knees, And the mother jogs the cradle, and tries So happily the hours fly past, 'Tis pity to have them o'er ; But the rusty weights of the clock, at last And the knitting kneedles, one and all, Now, all of a sudden the father twirls "Old Santa Claus don't like his girls And boys to be up so late!" He says, "And I'll warrant our star-faced cow, He's waiting astride o' the chimney now." Down the back of his chair they slide, They slide down arm and knee: If Santa Claus is indeed outside, He sha'n't be kept for me!" In the mother's eyes are happy tears As she sees them flutter away; And then they talk of what they will do And Dick is so wise, and Dolly so fair, "They," says the mother, "will have luck to spare!" Aye, aye, good wife, that's clear, that's clear!" Then, with eyes on the cradle bent, "And what if he in the wolf-skin here Turned out to be President? Just think! O, wouldn't it be fine, She stopped — her heart with hope elate Then, with the brawny hand of her mate "Walls as narrow, and a roof as low, Have sheltered a President, you know." And then they said they would work and wait, You must have pulled the latch-string straight, Feeling that you were not by leave At the Settler's hearth that Christmas Eve. THE OLD STORY. 257 THE OLD STORY. THE waiting-women wait at her feet, And down and down from the mossy eaves, Ah! never had sleeper a sleep so fair; And the waiting-women that weep around, Have taken the combs from her golden hair, And it slideth over her face to the ground. They have hidden the light from her lovely eyes; And down from the eaves where the mosses grow The rain is dripping so slow, so slow, And the night wind cries and cries and cries. From her hand they have taken the shining ring, They have brought the linen her shroud to make : O, the lark she was never so loath to sing, And the morn she was never so loath to awake! The mourning train to the grave have gone, And the waiting women are here and are there, With birds at the windows, and gleams of the sun, Making the chamber of death to be fair. And under and over the mist unlaps, And ruby and amethyst burn through the gray, And driest bushes grow green with spray, And the dimpled water its glad hands claps. The leaves of the sycamore dance and wave, The long grass blows and blows and blows. And love in the heart of the young man springs, And the hands of the maidens shine with rings, As if all life were a festival hour. BALDER'S WIFE. HER casement like a watchful eye From the face of the wall looks down, Lashed round with ivy vines so dry, And with ivy leaves so brown. Like a star in the spray o' th' sea, And wearily rocking to and fro, She sings so sweet and she sings so low But let her sing what tune she may, Never so light and never so gay, It slips and slides and dies away To the moan of the willow water. |