'O little May-blossom!' he softly cries,
As together we tread the well-worn way,
'There is nothing sweeter beneath the skies,
Than a little shining blossom of May!
O lie on my heart, as you ever do,
Till my heart grows lighter under your touch;
O little May-blossom! while I have _you_
No shaft of misfortune can hurt me much!'
He has work'd all day on the virgin sod;
We have eaten the meal that my hands prepare;
We have said our prayers to the Father-God,
And Harry is placidly sleeping there.
He is sleeping there, while I work away--
My busy needle has plenty to do;
And my thoughts turn idly to yesterday,
And a world where troubles were very few;
To a world that shines in a distance fair,
Like a fairy dream, impossibly sweet,--
_Was_ life what it seem'd when we liv'd out there?
Or was it only a lovely deceit?
Slumber approach'd not my eyes--open'd wide--
My wide-open eyes that so seldom weep!
Harry turn'd in his sleep, and turning sigh'd--
It breaks my heart when he sighs in his sleep.
And while I sat there in the twilight-gloom,
Looking at life with my wide-open eyes,
A ghost slipp'd suddenly into the room,
And that ghost was the ghost of Jack Devize!
A shiver ran o'er me from head to foot--
The crisis had come, and fate wrought her worst--
I tried to speak, but my tongue was quite mute,
And I knew that a ghost could _not_ speak first.
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