Legends and Lyrics. Part 1. Procter Adelaide Anne

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      How his noble earnest speeches,

      With untiring fervour came;

      HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;

      Truly he deserved the name!

      Had my Angel’s promise failed me?

      Had that word of hope grown dim?

      Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,

      And I loved it best in him!

      Max meanwhile – ah, you, my darling,

      Can his loving words recall —

      ’Mid the bravest and the noblest,

      Braver, nobler, than them all.

      How I loved him! how my heart thrilled

      When his sword clanked by his side.

      When I touched his gold embroidery,

      Almost saw him in his pride!

      So we parted; he all eager

      To uphold the name he bore,

      Leaving in my charge – he loved me —

      Some one whom he loved still more:

      I must tend this gentle flower,

      I must speak to her of him,

      For he feared – Love still is fearful —

      That his memory might grow dim.

      I must guard her from all sorrow,

      I must play a brother’s part,

      Shield all grief and trial from her,

      If it need be, with my heart.

      Years passed, and his name grew famous;

      We were proud, both she and I;

      And we lived upon his letters,

      While the slow days fleeted by.

      Then at last – you know the story,

      How a fearful rumour spread,

      Till all hope had slowly faded,

      And we heard that he was dead.

      Dead!  Oh, those were bitter hours;

      Yet within my soul there dwelt

      A warning, and while others mourned him,

      Something like a hope I felt.

      His was no weak life as mine was,

      But a life, so full and strong —

      No, I could not think he perished

      Nameless, ’mid a conquered throng.

      How she drooped!  Years passed; no tidings

      Came, and yet that little flame

      Of strange hope within my spirit

      Still burnt on, and lived the same.

      Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us,

      When to us they strongest seem;

      I can look back on those hours

      As a fearful, evil dream.

      She had long despaired; what wonder

      That her heart had turned to mine?

      Earthly loves are deep and tender,

      Not eternal and divine!

      Can I say how bright a future

      Rose before my soul that day?

      Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender —

      And I had to turn away.

      Hard and terrible the struggle,

      For the pain not mine alone;

      I called back my Brother’s spirit,

      And I bade him claim his own.

      Told her – now I dared to do it —

      That I felt the day would rise

      When he would return to gladden

      My weak heart and her bright eyes.

      And I pleaded – pleaded sternly —

      In his name, and for his sake:

      Now, I can speak calmly of it,

      Then, I thought my heart would break.

      Soon – ah, Love had not deceived me,

      (Love’s true instincts never err,)

      Wounded, weak, escaped from prison,

      He returned to me; to her.

      I could thank God that bright morning,

      When I felt my Brother’s gaze,

      That my heart was true and loyal,

      As in our old boyish days.

      Bought by wounds and deeds of daring,

      Honours he had brought away;

      Glory crowned his name – my Brother’s;

      Mine too! – we were one that day.

      Since the crown on him had fallen,

      “VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE,”

      I could live and die contented

      With my poor ignoble life.

      Well, my darling, almost weary

      Of my story?  Wait awhile;

      For the rest is only joyful;

      I can tell it with a smile.

      One bright promise still was left me,

      Wound so close about my soul,

      That, as one by one had failed me,

      This dream now absorbed the whole.

      “SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,” —

      Ah, my darling, few and rare

      Burn the glorious names of Poets,

      Like stars in the purple air.

      That too, and I glory in it,

      That great gift my Godfrey won;

      I have my dear share of honour,

      Gained by that belovèd one.

      One day shall my darling read it;

      Now she cannot understand

      All the noble thoughts, that lighten

      Through the genius of the land.

      I am proud to be his brother,

      Proud to think that hope was true;

      Though I longed and strove so vainly,

      What I failed in, he could do.

      I was long before I knew it,

      Longer ere I felt it so;

      Then I strung my rhymes together

      Only for the poor and low.

      And, it pleases me to know it,

      (For I love them well indeed,)

      They care for my humble verses,

      Fitted for their humble need.

      And, it cheers my heart to bear it,

      Where the far-off settlers roam,

      My poor words are sung and cherished,

      Just because they speak of Home.

      And the little children СКАЧАТЬ