Poems (McDonald)/The Maiden to her Mirror

by Mary Noel McDonald

THE MAIDEN TO HER MIRROR.

Thou tellest a pleasant tale to me—
 Thou sayest my form is fair,
And over a brow of spotless white
 Is braided my silken hair:—
That mine eye is bright, as the stars that lie
 Far off in their depths of blue;
That my cheek hath stolen the rose's dye,
 And my lip the ruby's hue.

And thou wert the first, long years ago,
 In my childhood's laughing hour,
To whisper a thought of beauty bright,
 Though I guessed not of its power:
But one hath knelt at that beauty's shrine,
 And proffered a noble heart;
And the word is spoken in holy faith,
 From which we may never part.

And to-morrow—then kind hands will deck
 My form for the altar's side;
And with murmured wishes of health and joy,
 They will hail me, a happy bride.
Wilt thou give me back as bright a cheek
 As leans to thy surface now?
Will thy shining bosom, old mirror, speak
 Of a pale but lovely brow?

Will thou say beneath my bridal veil,
 Half hid by their swelling tears,
Mine eyes beam forth with the liquid light
 Of my girlhood's happy years?
It will be our parting, oh, mirror bright!
 Our last fond parting then;
And as years roll o'er us, it yet may be
 We shall never meet again.

For my home, it must now be far away
 O'er the waves of the bright blue sea;
But oh! will the vales of that verdant land
 E'er seem as my own to me?
The love of a trusting heart I know
 Can make each spot seem fair;
But shall I not sigh for the loving smiles,
 And the sweet home-voices there?

My mother's eye, will it come to bless
 Her child with its tender gleams?
Shall I yearn for my sister's gentle words,
 Yet hear them alone in dreams?
.Shall my father's blessing, my brother's tone,
 No longer greet mine ear?
And is love so deep in my heart for him,
 I can part with the loved ones here?

Yet oft will they come to my chamber lone,
 And gaze on thy glossy face;
Would I might stamp upon thee, old friend,
 The features they love to trace:
But not forgotten, though all unseen,
 Will the parted dear one be;
I shall dwell in faithful hearts, I ween,
 Oh mirror! if not in thee.