And early reapers plodded to the place. Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood; (Men sell not such in any town:) Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, "For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI, JUNE 8, 1857. A HUNDRED, a thousand to one; even so; Not a hope in the world remained: The swarming howling wretches below Skene looked at his pale young wife:— "Is the time come?". "The time is come!" Young, strong, and so full of life: The agony struck them dumb. Close his arm about her now, Close her cheek to his, Close the pistol to her brow God forgive them this! 22 32 IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI. "Will it hurt much? "No, mine own: I wish I could bear the pang for both." "I wish I could bear the pang alone: Courage, dear, I am not loth." Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain Thus to kiss and die. One kiss more."- “And yet one again." “Good bye.”—“Good bye." DREAM LAND. WHERE sunless rivers weep Their waves into the deep, She sleeps a charmèd sleep : Awake her not. Led by a single star, She came from very far To seek where shadows are Her pleasant lot. She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs. Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, D |