Part 6 (1/2)

Her dwelling is unknown to fame-- Perchance she's fair--perchance her name Is _Car_, or _Kitty_; She may be _Jane_--she might be plain-- For need the object of one's strain Be always pretty?

THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK.

We knew an old Scribe, it was ”once on a time,”-- An era to set sober datists despairing;-- Then let them despair! Darby sat in a chair Near the Cross that gave name to the village of Charing.

Though silent and lean, Darby was not malign,-- What hair he had left was more silver than sable;-- He had also contracted a curve in his spine From bending too constantly over a table.

His pay and expenditure, quite in accord, Were both on the strictest economy founded; His masters were known as the Sealing-wax Board, Who ruled where red tape and snug places abounded.

In his heart he looked down on this dignified knot,-- For why, the forefather of one of these senators, A rascal concerned in the Gunpowder Plot, Had been barber-surgeon to Darby's progenitors.

Poor fool! Life is all a vagary of Luck,-- Still, for thirty long years of genteel dest.i.tution He'd been writing State Papers, which means he had stuck Some heads and some tails to much circ.u.mlocution.

This sounds rather weary and dreary; but, no!

Though strictly inglorious, his days were quiescent, His red-tape was tied in a true-lover's bow Each night when returning to Rosemary Crescent.

There Joan meets him smiling, the young ones are there, His coming is bliss to the half-dozen wee things; Of his advent the dog and the cat are aware, And Phyllis, neat-handed, is laying the tea-things.

East wind! sob eerily! sing, kettle! cheerily!

Baby's abed,--but its father will rock it; Little ones boast your permission to toast The cake that good fellow brought home in his pocket.

This greeting the silent old Clerk understands,-- His friends he can love, had he foes, he could mock them; So met, so surrounded, his bosom expands,-- Some tongues have more need of such scenes to unlock them.

And Darby, at least, is resigned to his lot, And Joan, rather proud of the sphere he's adorning, Has well-nigh forgotten that Gunpowder Plot, And _he_ won't recall it till ten the next morning.

A kindly good man, quite a stranger to fame, His heart still is green, though his head shows a h.o.a.r lock; Perhaps his particular star is to blame,-- It may be, he never took time by the forelock.

A day must arrive when, in pitiful case, He will drop from his Branch, like a fruit more than mellow; Is he yet to be found in his usual place?

Or is he already forgotten, poor fellow?

If still at his duty he soon will arrive,-- He pa.s.ses this turning because it is shorter,-- If not within sight as the clock's striking five, We shall see him before it is chiming the quarter.

A WISH.

To the south of the church, and beneath yonder yew, A pair of child-lovers I've seen, More than once were they there, and the years of the two, When added, might number thirteen.

They sat on the grave that has never a stone The name of the dead to determine, It was Life paying Death a brief visit--alone A notable text for a sermon.

They tenderly prattled; what was it they said?

The turf on that hillock was new; Dear Little Ones, did ye know aught of the Dead, Or could he be heedful of you?

I wish to believe, and believe it I must, Her father beneath them was laid: I wish to believe,--I will take it on trust, That father knew all that they said.

My own, you are five, very nearly the age Of that poor little fatherless child: And some day a true-love your heart will engage, When on earth I my last may have smiled.