Poems (Cary)/The Evening Walk
THE EVENING WALK.
"Mother, see my cottage bonnet! Never was it bleached so whiteI have put fresh ribbons on it, And three roses, for to-night.Think you, mother, they will fadeFor a half hour in the shade?"'T was the coaxing Adelaide Thus who said, the bonnet tyingClose about her golden hair. Waiting not for a replyingTo her question, she must wear The new ribbons and the flowers—None would see them—'t was her mood;On the hill-side near the wood She would be the next two hours."If you want me, mother dear—Call, I shall be sure to hear,"So said joyous Adelaide—Pretty, self-deceiving maid.
Many times before that dayShe had gone the self-same way, Singing, skipping here and there,Where a daisy bloomed, or wherePatches of bright grasses lay.She would pout if you should saySweeter music twilight cheersThan the birds make, and with tearsTell you, it is not the truthShe has ever seen a youthDriving cattle any nightDown a meadow thick with flowersDriving cattle, brown and white, Slowly towards a shallow well,Hedged with lilies all around, Brighter than the speckled shellOf the "sweet beast" Hermés found.
What deceitful hearts are ours! For 't is true, say all she can, That the farm-boy, Corolan,Drives at night his cattle so—Silent sometimes drives them, slow—Sometimes trilling songs of glee— Treading very near the shadeWhere, unconscious, it may be, Sits the blushing Adelaide.The huge leader of the flock Often with a golden strand,Made of oat straw, gaily boundHis black forehead round and round, Close to Corolan doth walk,Gently guided by his hand.
Haply 't is but for the pleasingOf his own eyes he doth makeThe gold cordage, and for sakeOf the green and flowery dellsHis white oxen wear the bells, And the song may be for easingA young heart that loves the flowing Of soft sounds in solitudes,And the lonesome echoes going Like lost poets through the woods.Or all haply, happens so— For the maiden says with tears, "On the white necks of the steersSilver bells make music lowWhen the pastured cattle goToward the spring—but not a soundSweeter, ever echoes round"— So it cannot be she hears!And if thither Corolan strays,She has seen him not, she says;And if eyes so bold and bright As you hint of, pierced the shade,She would not be night by nightOn the hill side.On the hill side.AdelaideSurely would not so declareIf she saw young Corolan there. So we will not wrong the maidGuessing why the cottage bonnetHad fresh flowers and ribbons on it,Or for what the hill side shadePleased her—beauteous Adelaide.