Poems (Chitwood)/A Ballad
For works with similar titles, see A Ballad.
A BALLAD.
He came to that neglected home One quiet summer day:"Oh, I have borne a weary heart The while I was away.
"Her love has ever haunted me, Through distance far and wide,—Oh lead me, sister of her heart, Oh lead me to her side."
That sister took his hand, she led Him down the grassy vale;Her eyes were misty with their tears, Her cheeks were very pale.
She led him on, but not a word Of joy or grief she said—Her thoughts swept silent as a rill Along a grassy mead.
There was a clump of aspen trees Within a quiet dell;He used to sit beneath their shade, With one who loved him well.
"Oh, does she wait me here," he said, "As in those blessèd hours?"—His feet were close against a grave, Half covered o'er with flowers.
Now, for the first time, did she speak, That sister of her breast:"Oh, may your heart like aspen leaves Have not a moment's rest."
She turned away, as the last word Fell sadly from her tongue;He started from the fearful spot As if an adder stung.
And dimly in the misty air, A form he seemed to see:"It was a cold bed, dearest love, The one you made for me.
"My pillow is so damp and hard, The sod so dark and cold,And o'er my muslin shroud there lies The blackness of the mold.
"My locks ave straightened as with dew, My cheeks are thin and white;The summer day may charm the earth, To me 'tis ever night.
"The waving grass, the starry flowers, My dim eyes can not see;It is a dreary bed, my love, The one you made for me."
Fainter and fainter in the air, Became that form of light;The pale lips and the straightened hair Passed slowly out of sight.
Weaker and weaker grew his pulse, With deadly, deadly fear,Until the throbbing of his heart Within, he ceased to hear.
With staring eyes and marble face, And form so stiff and cold,They found him when the morning came, Low sleeping on the mold.