But they always shrank away from her When she strove to comfort their alarms,And their grave,cold silence to beguile:Even little Olga's baby-smile Quivered into tears when in her arms.
I could never chide them:for I saw How their mother's memory grew more deep In their hearts.Each night I had to tell Stories of her whom I loved so well When a child,to send them off to sleep.
But Sir Arthur--Oh,this was too hard!-He,who had been always stern and sad In my lady's time,seemed to rejoice Each day more;and I could hear his voice Even,sounding younger and more glad.
He might perhaps have blamed them,but his wife Never failed to take the children's part:She would stay him with her pleading tone,Saying she would strive,and strive alone,Till she gained each little wayward heart.
And she strove indeed,and seemed to be Always waiting for their love,in vain;Yet,when May had most her mother's look,Then the lady's calm,cold accents shook With some memory of reproachful pain.
Little May would never call her Mother:So,one day,the lady,bending low,Kissed her golden curls,and softly said,"Sweet one,call me Margaret,instead,-Your dear mother used to call me so."
She was gentle,kind,and patient too,Yet in vain:the children held apart.Ah,their mother's gentle memory dwelt Near them,and her little orphans felt She had the first claim upon their heart.
So three years passed;then the war broke out;And a rumour seemed to spread and rise;First we guessed what sorrow must befall,Then all doubt fled,for we read it all In the depths of her despairing eyes.
Yes;Sir Arthur had been called away To that scene of slaughter,fear,and strife,-Now he seemed to know with double pain,The cold,bitter gulf that must remain To divide his children from his wife.
Nearer came the day he was to sail,Deeper grew the coming woe and fear,When,one night,the children at my knee Knelt to say their evening prayer to me,I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near.
There they knelt with folded hands,and said Low,soft words in stammering accents sweet;In the firelight shone their golden hair And white robes:my darlings looked so fair,With their little bare and rosy feet!
There he waited till their low "Amen;"Stopped the rosy lips raised for "Good night!"-Drew them with a fond clasp,close and near,As he bade them stay with him,and hear Something that would make his heart more light.
Little Olga crept into his arms;Arthur leant upon his shoulder;May Knelt beside him,with her earnest eyes Lifted up in patient,calm surprise
-I can almost hear his words to-day.
"Years ago,my children,years ago,When your mother was a child,she came From her northern home,and here she met Love for love,and comfort for regret,In one early friend,--you know her name.
"And this friend--a few years older--gave Such fond care,such love,that day by day The new home grew happy,joy complete,Studies easier,and play more sweet,While all childish sorrows passed away.
"And your mother--fragile,like my May -Leant on this deep love,--nor leant in vain.For this friend (strong,generous,noble heart!)Gave the sweet,and took the bitter part,-Brought her all the joy,and kept the pain.
"Years passed on,and then I saw them first:It was hard to say which was most fair,Your sweet mother's bright and blushing face,Or the graver Margaret's stately grace;Golden locks,or braided raven hair.
"Then it happened,by a strange,sad fate,One thought entered into each young soul:Joy for one--if for the other pain;Loss for one--if for the other gain:One must lose,and one possess the whole.
"And so this--this--what they cared for--came And belonged to Margaret:was her own.But she laid the gift aside,to take Pain and sorrow for your mother's sake,And none knew it but herself alone.
"Then she travelled far away,and none The strange mystery of her absence knew.Margaret's secret thought was never told:Even your mother thought her changed and cold,And for many years I thought so too.
"She was gone;and then your mother took That poor gift which Margaret laid aside:Flower,or toy,or trinket,matters not:What it was had better be forgot ...It was just then she became my bride.
"Now,I think May knows the hope I have.Arthur,darling,can you guess the rest?Even my little Olga understands Great gifts can be given by little hands,Since of all gifts Love is still the best.
"Margaret is my dear and honoured wife,And I hold her so.But she can claim From your hearts,dear ones,a loving debt I can neither pay,nor yet forget:You can give it in your mother's name.
"Earth spoils even Love,and here a shade On the purest,noblest heart may fall:Now your mother dwells in perfect light,She will bless us,I believe,to-night,-She is happy now,and she knows all."
Next day was farewell--a day of tears;Yet Sir Arthur,as he rode away,And turned back to see his lady stand With the children clinging to her hand,Looked as if it were a happy day.
Ah,they loved her soon!The little one Crept into her arms as to a nest;Arthur always with her now;and May Growing nearer to her every day:--Well,I loved my own dear lady best.
