Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/363

1840-60.] ALICE GARY. 347 " Selfish am I, weak and selfish," All her young heart wild with rap- Said she, "thus to sit and sigh; ture Other friends and other pleasures And the bliss that made it beat — Claim his leisure well as I. Not the golden wells of Hybla Haply, care or bitter sorrow Held a treasure half so sweet ! 'Tis that keeps him from my side, But as oft the shifting rose-cloud. Else he surely would have hasted In the sunset light that lies. Hither at the twilight tide. Mournful makes us, feeling only Yet, sometimes I can but marvel How much farther are the skies, — That his lips have never said, So the mantling of her blushes, When we talked about the future. And the trembling of her heart Then, or then, we shall be wed ! 'Neath his steadfast eyes but made Much I fear me that my nature her Cannot measure half his pride. Feel how far they were apart. And perchance he would not wed me "Allen," said she, "I will tell you Though I pined of love and died. Of a vision that I had — To the aims of his ambition All the livelong night I dreamed it. I would bring nor wealth nor fame. And it made me very sad. Well, there is a quiet valley We were walking slowly, seaward. Where we both shall sleep the same ! " In the twilight — you and I — So, more eves than I can number. Through a break of clearest azure Now despairing, and now blest, Slione the moon — as now — on high ; Watched the gentle Jessie Carol Though I nothing said to vex you, From the Valley of the West. O'er your forehead came a frown. And I strove but could not sooth you — II. Something kept my full heart down ; Down along the dismal woodland When, before us, stood a lady Blew October's yellow leaves, In the moonlight's pearxy beam, And the day had waned and faded, Very tall and proud and stately — • To the saddest of all eves. (Allen, this was in my dream !) — Poison rods of scarlet berries Looking down, I thought, upon me. Still were standing here and there, Half in pity, half in scorn, But the clover blooms were faded. Till my soul grew sick with wishing And the orchard boughs were bare. That I never had been born. From the stubble-fields the cattle ' Cover me from woe and madness !' Winding homeward, playful, slow, Cried I to the ocean flood, With their slender horns of silver As she locked her milk-white fingers Pushed each other to and fro. In between us where we stood, — ■ Suddenly the hound upspringing All her flood of midnight tresses From his sheltering kennel, whined, Softly gathered from their flow, As the voice of Jessie Carol By her crown of bridal beauty, Backward drifted on the wind. Paler than the winter snow. Backward drifted from a pathway Striking then my hands together, Sloping down the upland wild. O'er the tumult of my breast, — Where she walked with Allen Archer, All the beauty waned and faded Light of spirit as a child ! From the Valley of the West!"