680 WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. [1850-60. Looked on the orchard, a bloomy sea, with its billows of blossoms. Fair was the scene, yet suddenly strange and all unfamiliar. Like as the faces of friends, when the word of farewell has been spoken. Long together they gazed ; then at last on the little log-cabin — Home for so many years, now home no longer forever — Rested their tearless eyes in the sUent rap- ture of anguish. Up on the morning air, no column of smoke from the chimney Wavering, silver and azure, rose, fading and brightening ever ; Shut was the door where yesterday morn- ing the children were playing, Lit with a gleam of the sun the window stared up at them blindly, Cold was the hearth-stone now, and the place was forsaken and empty. Empty ? Ah no ! but haunted by thronging and tenderest fancies. Sad recollections of all that had ever been, of sorrow or gladness. Once more they sat in the glow of the wide red fire in the winter, Once more they sat by the door in the cool of the still summer evening. Once more the mother seemed to be sing- ing her babe there to slumber. Once more the father beheld her weep o'er the child that was dying. Once more the place was peopled by all the Past's sorrow and gladness ! Neither might speak for the thoughts that come crowding their hearts so. Till, in their ignorant sorrow aloud, the children lamented ; Then was the spell of silence dissolved, and the father and mother Burst into tears, and embraced, and turned their dim eyes to the westward. DEAD. Something lies in the room Over against my own ; The windows are lit with a ghastly bloom Of candles, burning alone — Untrimmed, and all aflare In the ghastly silence there. People go by the door. Tiptoe, holding their breath, And hush the talk that they held before, Lest they should waken Death, That is ayake all night There in the candlelight! The cat upon the stairs Watches with flamy eye For the sleepy one who shall unawares Let her go stealing by; She softly, softly purrs, And claws the banisters. The bird from out its dream Breaks with a sudden song, That stabs the sense like a sudden scream ; The hound the whole night long Howls to the moonless sky, So far, and starry, and high. THE POET'S FRIENDS. The Robin sings in the elm ; The cattle stand beneath, Sedate and grave, with great brown eyes, And fragrant meadow-breath. They listen to the flattered bird. The wise-looking, stupid things ! And they never understand a word Of all the Robin sings.
