Patience Dow

HOME from the mill came Patience Dow;
She did not smile, she would not talk;
And now she was all tears, and now,
As fierce as is a captive hawk.
Unmindful of her faded gown,
She sat with folded hands all day,
Her long hair falling tangled down,
Her sad eyes gazing far away,
Where, past the fields, a silver line,
She saw the distant river shine.
But, when she thought herself alone,
One night, they heard her muttering low,
In such a chill, despairing tone,
It seemed the east wind’s sullen moan:
“ Ah me! the days, they move so slow!
I care not if they ’re fair or foul;
They creep along — I know not how;
I only know he loved me once —
He does not love me now! ”

One morning, vacant was her room;
And, in the clover wet with dew,
A narrow line of broken bloom
Showed some one had been passing through;
And, following the track, it led
Across a field of summer grain,
Out where the thorny blackberries shed
Their blossoms in the narrow lane,
Down which the cattle went to drink
In summer, from the river’s brink.
“ The river! ” Hope within them sank;
The fatal thought that drew her there
They knew, before, among the rank,
White-blossomed weeds upon the bank,
They found the shawl she used to wear,
And on it pinned a little note:
“ Oh, blame me not! ” it read, “for when
I once am free, my soul will float
To him! He cannot leave me then!
I know not if ’t is right or wrong —
I go from life —I care not how;
I only know he loved me once —
He does not love me now! ”

In the farm graveyard, ’neath the black,
Funereal pine-trees on the hill,
The poor, worn form the stream gave back
They laid in slumber, cold and still.
Her secret slept with her; none knew
Whose fickle smile had left the pain
That cursed her life; to one thought true,
Her vision-haunted, wandering brain,
Secure from all, hid safe from blame,
In life and death had kept his name.
Yet, often, with a thrill of fear,
Her mother, as she lies awake
At night, will fancy she can hear
A voice, whose tone is like the drear,
Low sound the graveyard pine-trees make:
“ I know not if ’t is right or wrong —
I go from life — I care not how;
I only know he loved me once —
He does not love me now! ”