The Postman's Knock.
The postman's knock! oh, what delight
That well-known sound imparts,
That hasty rap, tap! how it thrills
Each pulse in fond young hearts;
What light and joyous footsteps tread
That moment on the floor—
What beaming eyes, and glowing cheeks,
Then meet him at the door!
That well-known sound imparts,
That hasty rap, tap! how it thrills
Each pulse in fond young hearts;
What light and joyous footsteps tread
That moment on the floor—
What beaming eyes, and glowing cheeks,
Then meet him at the door!
And what a sweet and gracious smile
The happy fair one gives,
As she, with eager out-stretch'd hand,
The welcome note receives;
She sees her name, so neatly traced
In her beloved one's hand—
She feels his heart is still her own,
Though in a distant land;
The very motto on the seal
Can tranquilise each fear—
"We only part to meet again,"
Or, "Absent, ever dear."
The happy fair one gives,
As she, with eager out-stretch'd hand,
The welcome note receives;
She sees her name, so neatly traced
In her beloved one's hand—
She feels his heart is still her own,
Though in a distant land;
The very motto on the seal
Can tranquilise each fear—
"We only part to meet again,"
Or, "Absent, ever dear."
The postman's knock! how many ears
Wait anxious for that sound,
His well-known foot upon the stair,
His tread upon the ground;
Joy, friendship, love, and oft-times grief's
Imparted by his call,
Yet, be his tidings what they may,
He's welcomed still by all.
Wait anxious for that sound,
His well-known foot upon the stair,
His tread upon the ground;
Joy, friendship, love, and oft-times grief's
Imparted by his call,
Yet, be his tidings what they may,
He's welcomed still by all.
How many bosoms hopefully,
Yet tremblingly, await
That packet, which has travell'd far
To tell some loved one's fate:
A sailor or a soldier love,
Cut down in life's young spring—
What wonder if his own last last lines
Become a worshipp'd thing!
What wonder, then, if bitter tears
From sorrow's fount arise,
Embalming oft that folded leaf,
Than gold a richer prize!
Yet tremblingly, await
That packet, which has travell'd far
To tell some loved one's fate:
A sailor or a soldier love,
Cut down in life's young spring—
What wonder if his own last last lines
Become a worshipp'd thing!
What wonder, then, if bitter tears
From sorrow's fount arise,
Embalming oft that folded leaf,
Than gold a richer prize!
The postman's knock! its magic power
What bosom can deny—
Say, who has not his absence felt
Without an anxious sigh?
Alas! 'tis sad, with hope-fraught heart,
To sit and watch the clock
Until the very hour arrives,
And then, no postman's knock!
What bosom can deny—
Say, who has not his absence felt
Without an anxious sigh?
Alas! 'tis sad, with hope-fraught heart,
To sit and watch the clock
Until the very hour arrives,
And then, no postman's knock!
I've marked a bitter tear-drop start
Unbidden to an eye,
I've marked a bosom struggling heave
With disappointment's sigh—
I've seen the red blood mount a cheek,
Then tremble to the heart;
Who'd think a passing postman could
Such agony impart?
Unbidden to an eye,
I've marked a bosom struggling heave
With disappointment's sigh—
I've seen the red blood mount a cheek,
Then tremble to the heart;
Who'd think a passing postman could
Such agony impart?
The postman's knock! it had not come,
She felt the sad neglect—
From her own love, her own betroth'd,
She did not this expect;
She felt it, and she tried to hide,
And o'er her fair young face
She drew her hand, and then withdrew,
When gone was ev'ry trace
Of the deep workings of her soul,
Which varied on her cheek,
And told that tale of wretchedness
Her lips could never speak.
She felt the sad neglect—
From her own love, her own betroth'd,
She did not this expect;
She felt it, and she tried to hide,
And o'er her fair young face
She drew her hand, and then withdrew,
When gone was ev'ry trace
Of the deep workings of her soul,
Which varied on her cheek,
And told that tale of wretchedness
Her lips could never speak.
I felt for her, but did not seem
To notice her distress.
I thought, were I a youth who had
Such perfect power to bless
My lady-love, I would not thus
Give fond hearts such a shock,
But cause them often to rejoice
When came the postman's knock.
To notice her distress.
I thought, were I a youth who had
Such perfect power to bless
My lady-love, I would not thus
Give fond hearts such a shock,
But cause them often to rejoice
When came the postman's knock.