1850-60.] SARAH E. WALLACE. 615 THE SINGING TREE.* The night is filled with beauty — Moonbeams, still and fleet, Have silvered each trodden path, And paved with pearl the street, The spreading maple at my door Is a weird and wondrous tree, For all night long it singeth Sweetest songs to me. 'Tis many years since first I stood In the changeful light and shade Of its leaves and blossoms dancing, While the merry breezes played — The air was sheen and perfume, Enchantment all to me, I dwelt in a sinless Eden Beneath a magical tree. Soon the sound of little voices, And the touch of little hands, Brought us yet closer together, Bound us in living bands. The bright years chased each other Till precious children — three, Airily swung. Like blossoms sprung. From the heart of the graceful tree. Our life had reached its full, Its warm deep summer-time. When he died — my beloved — In the strength of manhood's prime. That bitter, bitter grief May not be written or told ; It bowed my head to the dust And silvered its " paly gold." My children were left awhile, They grew in strength and pride, I knelt in wild idolatry, I knew no world beside.
- " Here he found the talking bh-d, the singing tree, and
the yellow water." — Arabian Nights. Their pretty words, their baby ways Ah ! how can I e'er forget ! The light in their dying eyes — It wrung my heart — 'tis bleeding yet.
Glorious, golden Autumn Flashed far o'er hill and dale. Like a radiant Princess crowned E'er she kneels to take the vail. And friendly winds, like redbreasts, Sprinkled the dying sod With brown and crimson leaves, And flowers of golden-rod ; And softly sings a requiem Of rarest melody. To a child who stood alone Under the singing tree. My only boy — how I madly wept. How I vainly tried to pray ! But the silver cord was loosed, My pearls were dropping away. Spring came and hung the maj^le With plumes that waved in pride; June bloomed, and faded — swanlike, Sweetest the hour she died — When I looked in my baby's face And saw that soon must he — The last and loveliest one — Sleep under the faithful tree. Swiftly, surely his life went out. The last strong link was riven ; There stood no love for living thing Between my heart and Heaven. Such nights — such holy nights as these — " I cannot make them dead ; " They break the bunds of dreamless sleep. They leave their earthy bed. I hear each well-known step As they come about my knee, And the voices loved so well Are the son2;s of the sino-inor tree.
