Poems (Douglas)/The Postman's Knock
The Postman's Knock.
The postman's knock! oh, what delight That well-known sound imparts,That hasty rap, tap! how it thrills Each pulse in fond young hearts;What light and joyous footsteps tread That moment on the floor—What beaming eyes, and glowing cheeks, Then meet him at the door!
And what a sweet and gracious smile The happy fair one gives,As she, with eager out-stretch'd hand, The welcome note receives;She sees her name, so neatly traced In her beloved one's hand—She feels his heart is still her own, Though in a distant land;The very motto on the seal Can tranquilise each fear—"We only part to meet again," Or, "Absent, ever dear."
The postman's knock! how many ears Wait anxious for that sound,His well-known foot upon the stair, His tread upon the ground; Joy, friendship, love, and oft-times grief's Imparted by his call,Yet, be his tidings what they may, He's welcomed still by all.
How many bosoms hopefully, Yet tremblingly, awaitThat packet, which has travell'd far To tell some loved one's fate:A sailor or a soldier love, Cut down in life's young spring—What wonder if his own last last lines Become a worshipp'd thing!What wonder, then, if bitter tears From sorrow's fount arise,Embalming oft that folded leaf, Than gold a richer prize!
The postman's knock! its magic power What bosom can deny—Say, who has not his absence felt Without an anxious sigh?Alas! 'tis sad, with hope-fraught heart, To sit and watch the clockUntil the very hour arrives, And then, no postman's knock!
I've marked a bitter tear-drop start Unbidden to an eye,I've marked a bosom struggling heave With disappointment's sigh— I've seen the red blood mount a cheek, Then tremble to the heart;Who'd think a passing postman could Such agony impart?
The postman's knock! it had not come, She felt the sad neglect—From her own love, her own betroth'd, She did not this expect;She felt it, and she tried to hide, And o'er her fair young faceShe drew her hand, and then withdrew, When gone was ev'ry traceOf the deep workings of her soul, Which varied on her cheek,And told that tale of wretchedness Her lips could never speak.
I felt for her, but did not seem To notice her distress.I thought, were I a youth who had Such perfect power to blessMy lady-love, I would not thus Give fond hearts such a shock,But cause them often to rejoice When came the postman's knock.