The Mistress of the Manse

Excerpt

I.

  A fluttering bevy left the gate
  With hurried steps, and sped away;
  And then a coach with drooping freight,
  Wrapped in its film of dusty gray,
  Stopped; and the pastor and his mate

  Stepped forth, and passed the waiting door,
  And closed it on the gazing street.
  "Oh Philip!" She could say no more.
  "Oh Mildred! You're at home, my sweet,—
  The old life closed: the new before!"

  "Dinah, the mistress!" And the maid,
  Grown motherly with household care
  And loving service, and arrayed
  In homely neatness, took the pair
  Of small gloved hands held out, and paid

  Her low obeisance; then—"this way!"
  And when she brought her forth at last,
  To him who grudged the long delay,
  He found the soil of travel cast,
  And Mildred fresh and fair as May.

II

  "This is our little Manse," he said.
  "Now look with both your curious eyes
  Around, above and overhead,
  And seeing all things, realize
  That they are ours, and we are wed!

  "Walk through these freshly garnished rooms—
  These halls of oak and tinted pearl—
  And mark the cups of clover-blooms,
  Cut fresh, to greet the stranger-girl,
  By those whose kindliness illumes

  The house beyond the grace of flowers!
  They greet you, mantled by my name,
  And rain their tenderness in showers,—
  Responding to the double claim
  Of love no longer mine, but ours.

  "This is our parlor, plain and sweet:
  Your hands shall make it half divine.
  That wide, old-fashioned window-seat
  Beneath your touch shall grow a shrine;
  And every nooklet and retreat,

  And every barren ledge and shelf,
  Shall wear a charm beyond the boon
  Of treasure-bearing drift, or delf,
  Or dreams that flutter from the moon;
  For it shall blossom with yourself.

  "This is my study: here, alone,
  Prayerful to Him whom I adore,
  And gathering speech to make him known,
  Your far, quick footsteps on the floor,
  Your breezy robe, your cheerful tone,

  As through our pretty home you speed
  The busy ministries of life,
  Will stir me swifter than my creed,
  And be more musical, dear wife,
  Than sweep of harp, or pipe of reed.

  "Here is our fairy banquet hall!
  See how it opens to the East,
  And looks through elms! The board is small,
  But what it bears shall be a feast
  At morn, and noon, and evenfall.

  "There will you sit in girlish grace,
  And catch, the sunrise in your hair;
  And looking at you, from my place,
  I shall behold more sweet and fair
  The morning in your smiling face.

  "And guests shall come, and guests shall go,
  And break with us our daily bread;
  And sometime—sometime—do you know?
  I hope that—dearest, lift your head;
  And let me speak it, soft and low!

  "The grass is sweeter than the ground:
  Can love be better than its flowers?
  Oh sometime—sometime—in the round
  Of coming years, this board of ours
  I hope may blossom and abound

  With shining curls, and laughing eyes,
  And pleasant jests and merry words,
  And questions full of life's surprise,
  And light and music, when the birds
  Have left us to our gloomy skies....