Poems (Cary)/Nellie Watching
NELLIE, WATCHING.
You might see the river shoreFrom the shady cottage doorWhere she sat, a maiden mild—Not a woman, not a child;But the grace which heaven confersOn the two, I trow was hers:Dimpled cheek, and laughing eyes,Blue as bluest summer skies,And the snowy fall and riseOf a bosom, stirred, I weet,By some thought as dewy sweetAs the red ripe strawberries,Which the morning mower sees;Locks so long and brown (half downFrom the modest wild-flower crownThat she made an hour ago,Saying, "I will wear it, thoughNone will praise it, that I know!")Twined she round her fingers white—Sitting careless in the light,Sweetly mixed of day and night—Twined she, peeping sly the whileDown the valley, like an aisle, Sloping to the river-side.Blue eyes! wherefore ope so wide?They are fishers on the shoreThat you look on—nothing more.
Pettishly she pouts—ah me!Saucy Nellie, you will seeEre an hour has fled away,Little recks it what you say—That those eyes with anger frowningDarkly, will be near to drowning,And the lips repeating soOft and proudly "Let him go!"Will be sighing.Will be sighing.Ah, I know!I have watched as you have doneThis fair twilight, pretty one,Watched in trembling hope, and knowSpite of all your frowning so,That the wave of sorrow, flowingIn your heart, will soon be showingIn the cheek, now brightly blushing,—Hark! 't is but the wild birds hushingTo their nests—and not a loverBrushing through the valley clover!
Purple as the morning-glories Round her head the shadows fall;Is she thinking of sad stories, That, when wild winds shriek and call, And the snow comes, good old folks, Sitting by the fire together,Tell, until the midnight cocks Shrilly crow from hill to hill— Stories, not befitting illWintry nights and windy weather?
The small foot that late was tappingOn the floor, has ceased its rapping,And the blue eyes opened wide,Half in anger, half in pride,Now are closed as in despair,And the flowers that she would wearWhether they were praised or no,On the ground are lying low.
Foolish Nellie, see the moon,Round and red, and think that June Will be here another day,And the apple-boughs will growBrighter than a month ago: Beauty dies not with the May!And beneath the hedgerow leaves,All the softly-falling eves,When the yellow bees are hummingAnd the blue and black birds comingIn at will, we two shall walk,Making out of songs or talkQuiet pastime.Quiet pastime.Nellie said, "Those fine eves I shall be dead,For I cannot live and seeHim I love so, false to me,And till now I never staidWatching vainly in the shade."
"In good sooth, you are betrayed! For I heard you, careless, saying,''T is not I for love that pine,' And I've been a long hour stayingIn the shadow of the vine!"
So a laughing voice, but tender,Said to Nellie: quick the splendor Of the full moon seemed to fade,For the smiling and the blushing Filling all the evening shade.It was not the wild birds hushing To their nests an hour ago,But in verity a loverBrushing through the valley-clover.
Would all watches maidens keep,When they sit alone and weepFor their heart-aches, ended so!