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第56节

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Go tripping lightly by;

I steal away from my husband;

Asleep in his easy…chair;

And watch from the open doorway

Their faces fresh and fair。



Alone in the dear old homestead

That once was full of life;

Ringing with girlish laughter;

Echoing boyish strife;

We two are waiting together;

And oft; as the shadows come;

With tremulous voice he calls me;

〃It is night! are the children home?〃



〃Yes; love!〃 I answer him gently;

〃They're all home long ago;〃 …

And I sing; in my quivering treble;

A song so soft and low;

Till the old man drops to slumber;

With his head upon his hand;

And I tell to myself the number

At home in the better land。



At home; where never a sorrow

Shall dim their eyes with tears!

Where the smile of God is on them

Through all the summer years!

I know; … yet my arms are empty;

That fondly folded seven;

And the mother…heart within me

Is almost starved for heaven。



Sometimes; in the dusk of evening;

I only shut my eyes;

And the children are all about me;

A vision from the skies:

The babes whose dimpled fingers

Lost the way to my breast;

And the beautiful ones; the angels;

Passed to the world of the blest。



With never a cloud upon them;

I see their radiant brows;

My boys that I gave to freedom; …

The red sword sealed their vows!

In a tangled Southern forest;

Twin brothers bold and brave;

They fell; and the flag they died for;

Thank God! floats over their grave。



A breath; and the vision is lifted

Away on wings of light;

And again we two are together;

All alone in the night。

They tell me his mind is failing;

But I smile at idle fears;

He is only back with the children;

In the dear and peaceful years。



And still; as the summer sunset

Fades away in the west;

And the wee ones; tired of playing;

Go trooping home to rest;

My husband calls from his corner;

〃Say; love; have the children come?〃

And I answer; with eyes uplifted;

〃Yes; dear! they are all at home。〃



Margaret Sangster '1838…1919' 





THE MORNING…GLORY



We wreathed about our darling's head

The morning…glory bright;

Her little face looked out beneath;

So full of life and light;

So lit as with a sunrise;

That we could only say;

〃She is the morning…glory true;

And her poor types are they。〃



So always from that happy time

We called her by their name;

And very fitting did it seem …

For; sure as morning came;

Behind her cradle bars she smiled

To catch the first faint ray;

As from the trellis smiles the flower

And opens to the day。



But not so beautiful they rear

Their airy cups of blue;

As turned her sweet eyes to the light;

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew;

And not so close their tendrils fine

Round their supports are thrown;

As those dear arms whose outstretched plea

Clasped all hearts to her own。



We used to think how she had come;

Even as comes the flower;

The last and perfect added gift

To crown Love's morning hour;

And how in her was imaged forth

The love we could not say;

As on the little dewdrops round

Shines back the heart of day。



We never could have thought; O God;

That she must wither up;

Almost before a day was flown;

Like the morning…glory's cup;

We never thought to see her droop

Her fair and noble head;

Till she lay stretched before our eyes;

Wilted; and cold; and dead!



The morning…glory's blossoming

Will soon be coming round …

We see the rows of heart…shaped leaves

Upspringing from the ground;

The tender things the winter killed

Renew again their birth;

But the glory of our morning

Has passed away from earth。



O Earth! in vain our aching eyes

Stretch over thy green plain!

Too harsh thy dews; too gross thine air

Her spirit to sustain;

But up in groves of Paradise

Full surely we shall see

Our morning…glory beautiful

Twine round our dear Lord's knee。



Maria White Lowell '1821…1855'





SHE CAME AND WENT



As a twig trembles; which a bird

Lights on to sing; then leaves unbent;

So is my memory thrilled and stirred; …

I only know she came and went。



As clasps some lake; by gusts unriven;

The blue dome's measureless content;

So my soul held that moment's heaven; …

I only know she came and went。



As; at one bound; our swift spring heaps

The orchards full of bloom and scent;

So clove her May my wintry sleeps; …

I only know she came and went。



An angel stood and met my gaze;

Through the low doorway of my tent;

The tent is struck; the vision stays; …

I only know she came and went。



Oh; when the room grows slowly dim;

And life's last oil is nearly spent;

One gush of light these eyes will brim;

Only to think she came and went。



James Russell Lowell '1819…1891' 





THE FIRST SNOW…FALL



The snow had begun in the gloaming;

And busily all the night

Had been heaping field and highway

With a silence deep and white。



Every pine and fir and hemlock

Wore ermine too dear for an earl;

And the poorest twig on the elm…tree

Was ridged inch deep with pearl。



From sheds new…roofed with Carrara

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow;

The stiff rails softened to swan's…down;

And still fluttered down the snow。



I stood and watched by the window

The noiseless work of the sky;

And the sudden flurries of snow…birds;

Like brown leaves whirling by。



I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn

Where a little headstone stood;

How the flakes were folding it gently;

As did robins the babes in the wood。



Up spoke our own little Mabel;

Saying; 〃Father; who makes it snow?〃

And I told of the good All…father

Who cares for us here below。



Again I looked at the snow…fall;

And thought of the leaden sky

That arched o'er our first great sorrow;

When that mound was heaped so high。



I remembered the gradual patience

That fell from that cloud like snow;

Flake by flake; healing and hiding

The scar that renewed our woe。



And again to the child I whispered;

〃The snow that husheth all;

Darling; the merciful Father

Alone can make it fall〃



Then; with eyes that saw not; I kissed her;

And she; kissing back; could not know

That my kiss was given to her sister;

Folded close under deepening snow。



James Russell Lowell '1819…1891'





〃WE ARE SEVEN〃



A simple Child;

That lightly draws its breath;

And feels its life in every limb;

What should it know of death?



I met a little cottage Girl:

She was eight years old; she said:

Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head。



She had a rustic; woodland air;

And she was wildly clad:

Her eyes were fair; and very fair;

… Her beauty made me glad。



〃Sisters and brothers; little Maid;

How many may you be?〃

〃How many? Seven in all;〃 she said;

And wondering looked at me。



〃And where are they?  I pray you tell。〃

She answered; 〃Seven are we;



And two of us at Conway dwell;

And two are gone to sea;



〃Two of us in the church…yard lie;

My sister and my brother;

And; in the church…yard cottage; I

Dwell near them with my mother。〃



〃You say that two at Conway dwell;

And two are gone to sea;


Yet ye are seven … I pray you tell;

Sweet Maid; how this may be。〃



Then did the little Maid reply;

〃Seven boys and girls are we;

Two of us in the church…yard lie

Beneath the church…yard tree。〃



〃You run about; my little Maid;

Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church…yard laid;

Then ye are only five。〃



〃Their graves are green; they may be seen;〃

The little Maid replied:

〃Twelve steps or more from my mother's door;

And they are side by side。



〃My stockings there I often knit;

My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit;

And sing a song to them。



〃And often after sunset; Sir;

When it is light and fair;

I take my little porringer;

And eat my supper there。



〃The first that died was sister Jane;

In bed she moaning lay;

Till God released her of her pain;

And then she went away。



〃So in the church…yard she was laid;

And; when the grass was dry;

Together round her grave we played;

My brother John and I。



〃And when the ground was white with snow;

And I could run and slide;

My brother John was forced to go;

And he lies by her side。〃



〃How many are you; then;〃 said I;

〃If they two are in heaven?〃

Quick was the little Maid's reply;

〃O Master! we are seven。〃



〃But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!〃

'Twas throwing words away; for still

The little Maid would have her will;

And said; 〃Nay; we are seven!〃



William Wordsworth '1770…1850'





MY CHILD



I cannot make him dead!

His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;

Yet when my eyes; now dim

With tears; I turn to him;

The vision vanishes; … he is not there!


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