Through the glad glory of the summer land Helen and I went wandering, hand in hand.

In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat-field, White with the promise of a bounteous yield, Across the late shorn meadow--down the hill, Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till We stood upon the borders of the lake, That like a pretty, placid infant, slept Low at its base: and little ripples crept Along its surface, just as dimples chase Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face

Helen in idle hours had learned to make A thousand pretty, feminine knick-knacks: For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands-- Labor just suited to her dainty hands.

That morning she had been at work in wax, Molding a wreath of flowers for my room,-- Taking her patterns from the living blows, In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom, Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose, And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch, Resembling the living plants as much As life is copied in the form of death: These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath.

And now the wreath was all completed, save The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom, A water-lily, dripping from the wave.

And 'twas in search of it that we had come Down to the lake, and wandered on the beach, To see if any lilies grew in reach.

Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been; Some buds, with all their beauties folded in, We found, but not the treasure that we sought And then we turned our footsteps to the spot Where, all impatient of its chain, my boat, "The Swan," rocked, asking to be set afloat It was a dainty row-boat--strong, yet light; Each side a swan was painted snowy white: A present from my uncle, just before He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand, Where freighted ships go sailing evermore, But none return to tell us of the land.

I freed the "Swan," and slowly rowed about, Wherever sea-weeds, gra.s.s, or green leaves lifted Their tips above the water. So we drifted, While Helen, opposite, leaned idly out And watched for lilies in the waves below, And softly crooned some sweet and dreamy air, That soothed me like a mother's lullabies.

I dropped the oars, and closed my sun-kissed eyes, And let the boat go drifting here and there.

Oh, happy day! the last of that brief time Of thoughtless youth, when all the world seems bright, Ere that disguised angel men call Woe Leads the sad heart through valleys dark as night, Up to the heights exalted and sublime.

On each blest, happy moment, I am fain To linger long, ere I pa.s.s on to pain And sorrow that succeeded.

From day-dreams, As golden as the summer noontide's beams, I was awakened by a voice that cried: "Strange ship, ahoy! Fair frigate, whither bound?"

And, starting up, I cast my gaze around, And saw a sail-boat o'er the water glide Close to the "Swan," like some live thing of grace; And from it looked the glowing, handsome face Of Vivian.

"Beauteous sirens of the sea, Come sail across the raging main with me!"

He laughed; and leaning, drew our drifting boat Beside his own. "There, now! step in!" he said, "I'll land you anywhere you want to go-- My boat is safer far than yours, I know: And much more pleasant with its sails all spread.

The Swan? We'll take the oars, and let it float Ash.o.r.e at leisure. You, Maurine, sit there-- Miss Helen here. Ye G.o.ds and little fishes!

I've reached the height of pleasure, and my wishes.

Adieu despondency! farewell to care!"

'T was done so quickly: that was Vivian's way.

He did not wait for either yea or nay.

He gave commands, and left you with no choice But just to do the bidding of his voice.

His rare, kind smile, low tones, and manly face Lent to his quick imperiousness a grace And winning charm, completely stripping it Of what might otherwise have seemed unfit.

Leaving no trace of tyranny, but just That nameless force that seemed to say, "You must."

Suiting its pretty t.i.tle of "The Dawn,"

(So named, he said, that it might rhyme with "Swan,") Vivian's sail-boat, was carpeted with blue, While all its sails were of a pale rose hue.

The daintiest craft that flirted with the breeze; A poet's fancy in an hour of ease.

Whatever Vivian had was of the best.

His room was like some Sultan's in the East.

His board was always spread as for a feast.

Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest.

He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine At his own table if 'twere illy set.

He so loved things artistic in design-- Order and beauty, all about him. Yet So kind he was, if it befell his lot To dine within the humble peasant's cot, He made it seem his native soil to be, And thus displayed the true gentility.

Under the rosy banners of the "Dawn,"

Around the lake we drifted on, and on.

It was a time for dreams, and not for speech.

And so we floated on in silence, each Weaving the fancies suiting such a day.

Helen leaned idly o'er the sail-boat's side, And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide; And I among the cushions half reclined, Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play While Vivian with his blank-book, opposite, In which he seemed to either sketch or write Was lost in inspiration of some kind.

No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efface My mind's impression of that hour and place; It stands out like a picture. O'er the years, Black with their robes of sorrow--veiled with tears, Lying with all their lengthened shapes between, Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scene.

Just as the last of Indian-summer days, Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze, Followed by dark and desolate December, Through all the months of winter we remember.

The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night While yet the day is full of golden light, We felt steal o'er us.

Vivian broke the spell Of dream-fraught silence, throwing down his book: "Young ladies, please allow me to arrange These wraps about your shoulders. I know well The fickle nature of our atmosphere,-- Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear,-- And go prepared for changes. Now you look, Like--like--oh, where's a pretty simile?

Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see How well my native talent is displayed In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid; Blue on the blonde--and quite without design (Oh, where _is_ that comparison of mine?) Well--like a June rose and a violet blue In one bouquet! I fancy that will do.

And now I crave your patience and a boon, Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme, A floating fancy of the summer time.

'Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise, So listen kindly--but don't criticise My maiden effort of the afternoon:

"If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the harbor could not hold So many sails as there would be If all my ships came in from sea.

"If half my ships came home from sea, And brought their precious freight to me, Ah, well! I should have wealth as great As any king who sits in state-- So rich the treasures that would be In half my ships now out at sea.

"If just one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown: For if the others all went down Still rich and proud and glad I'd be, If that one ship came back to me.

"If that one ship went down at sea, And all the others came to me, Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, With glory, honor, riches, gold, The poorest soul on earth I'd be If that one ship came not to me.

"O skies be calm? O winds blow free-- Blow all my ships safe home to me.

But if thou sendest some a-wrack To never more come sailing back, Send any--all, that skim the sea, But bring my love-ship home to me."

Helen was leaning by me, and her head Rested against my shoulder: as he read, I stroked her hair, and watched the fleecy skies, And when he finished, did not turn my eyes.

I felt too happy and too shy to meet His gaze just then. I said, "'Tis very sweet, And suits the day; does it not, Helen, dear?"

But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear.

"'Tis strange," I added, "how you poets sing So feelingly about the very thing You care not for! and dress up an ideal So well, it looks a living, breathing real!

Now, to a listener, your love song seemed A heart's out-pouring; yet I've heard you say Almost the opposite; or that you deemed Position, honor, glory, power, fame, Gained without loss of conscience or good name, The things to live for."

"Have you? Well you may,"

Laughed Vivian, "but 'twas years--or months ago!

And Solomon says wise men change, you know!

I now speak truth! if she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would find the years more lonely here.

Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, And sent an exile to a foreign land."

His voice was low, and measured: as he spoke, New, unknown chords of melody awoke Within my soul. I felt my heart expand With that sweet fullness born of love. I turned To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned, And leaning over Helen, breathed her name.

She lay so motionless I thought she slept: But, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose, And o'er her face a sudden glory swept, And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame.

"Sweet friend," I said, "your face is full of light: What were the dreams that made your eyes so bright?"

She only smiled for answer, and arose From her reclining posture at my side, Threw back the cl.u.s.t'ring ringlets from her face With a quick gesture, full of easy grace, And, turning, spoke to Vivian. "Will you guide The boat up near that little clump of green Off to the right? There's where the lilies grow.

We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine, And our few moments have grown into hours.

What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so?

There--that will do--now I can reach the flowers."

"Hark! just hear that!" and Vivian broke forth singing, "Row, brothers, row." "The six o'clock bell's ringing!

Who ever knew three hours to go so fast In all the annals of the world, before?

I could have sworn not over one had pa.s.sed.

Young ladies, I am forced to go ash.o.r.e!

I thank you for the pleasure you have given; This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven.

Good night--sweet dreams! and by your gracious leave, I'll pay my compliments to-morrow eve."

A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way: And, in the waning glory of the day, Down cool, green lanes, and through the length'ning shadows, Silent, we wandered back across the meadows.

The wreath was finished, and adorned my room; Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom Was like a horrid specter in my sight, Staring upon me morning, noon, and night.

The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up, And pa.s.sed before me, like an empty cup, The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss, And gives His children, saying, "Drink of this."

A light wind, from the open cas.e.m.e.nt, fanned My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand, Sat looking out upon the twilight scene, In dreamy silence. Helen's dark blue eyes, Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies Some night adown the meteor's shining track, And always had been grieving to go back, Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven's dome, And seemed to recognize and long for home.