THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME.
149
And my heart's sad and mournful minstrelsy
Found sweet interpretation in the low
And gentle wailings of the stricken dove.
My spirit rocked upon the swinging tops
Of the tall oaks; it danced upon the waves
That leaped in light and music or in wrath
Upon the shore; it rode upon the winds,
Soft whispering to the softly whispering leaves,
Or pealing like some deep-toned instrument
Through the green banners of the wood; it sailed
Upon the clouds that floated beautiful
Or dark with tempest; and it wandered oft
Above, to hold its joyous revelry
With all the thousand spirit-shapes that bathed
Their purple plumage in the rosy waves
Flooding the sunset. My dear mother's smile,
Caught by the stars from Eden, sweetly shone
In their pure light on my uplifted eyes,
And her soft words of cheer came to my soul
On every gale of morn, and neon, and eve,
And holy midnight. I was happy then,
Found sweet interpretation in the low
And gentle wailings of the stricken dove.
My spirit rocked upon the swinging tops
Of the tall oaks; it danced upon the waves
That leaped in light and music or in wrath
Upon the shore; it rode upon the winds,
Soft whispering to the softly whispering leaves,
Or pealing like some deep-toned instrument
Through the green banners of the wood; it sailed
Upon the clouds that floated beautiful
Or dark with tempest; and it wandered oft
Above, to hold its joyous revelry
With all the thousand spirit-shapes that bathed
Their purple plumage in the rosy waves
Flooding the sunset. My dear mother's smile,
Caught by the stars from Eden, sweetly shone
In their pure light on my uplifted eyes,
And her soft words of cheer came to my soul
On every gale of morn, and neon, and eve,
And holy midnight. I was happy then,
