MADELINE.

Where the waters of the Mohawk

Through a quiet valley glide,

From the brown church to her dwelling

She that morning passed a bride.

In the mild light of October

Beautiful the forest stood,

As the temple on Mount Zion

When God filled its solitude.

Very quietly the red leaves,

On the languid zephyr's breath,

Fluttered to the mossy hillocks

Where their sisters slept in death:

And the white mist of the Autumn

Hung o'er mountain-top and dale,

Soft and filmy, as the foldings

Of the passing bridal veil.

From the field of Saratoga

At the last night's eventide,

Rode the groom,— a gallant soldier

Flushed with victory and pride,

Seeking, as a priceless guerdon

From the dark-eyed Madeline,

Leave to lead her to the altar

When the morrow's sun should shine.

All the children of the village,

Decked with garland's white and red,

All the young men and the maidens,

Had been forth to see her wed;

And the aged people, seated

In the doorways‘ neath the vine,

Thought of their own youth and blessed her,

As she left the house divine.

Pale she was, but very lovely,

With a brow so calm and fair,

When she passed, the benediction

Seemed still falling on the air.

Strangers whispered they had never

Seen who could with her compare,

And the maidens looked with envy

On her wealth of raven hair.

In the glen beside the river

In the shadow of the wood,

With wide-open doors for welcome

Gamble-roofed the cottage stood;

Where the festal board was waiting,

For the bridal guests prepared,

Laden with a feast, the humblest

In the little village shared.

Every hour was winged with gladness

While the sun went down the west,

Till the chiming of the church-bell

Told to all the hour for rest:

Then the merry guests departed,

Some a camp's rude couch to bide,

Some to bright homes,— each invoking

Blessings on the gentle bride.

Tranquilly the morning sunbeam

Over field and hamlet stole,

Wove a glory round each red leaf,

Then effaced the Frost-king's scroll:

Eyes responded to its greeting

As a lake's still waters shine,

Young hearts bounded,— and a gay group

Sought the home of Madeline.

Bird-like voices‘ neath the casement

Chanted in the hazy air,

A sweet orison for wakening,—

Half thanksgiving and half prayer.

But no white hand drew the curtain

From the vine-clad panes before,

No light form, with buoyant footstep,

Hastened to fling wide the door.

Moments numbered hours in passing

‘ Mid that silence, till a fear

Of some unseen ill crept slowly

Through the trembling minstrels near,

Then with many a dark foreboding,

They, the threshold hastened o'er,

Paused not where a stain of crimson

Curdled on the oaken floor;

But sought out the bridal chamber.

God in Heaven! could it be

Madeline who knelt before them

In that trance of agony?

Cold, inanimate beside her,

By the ruthless Cow-boys slain

In the night-time whilst defenceless,

He she loved so well was lain;

O'er her bridal dress were scattered,

Stains of fearful, fearful dye,

And the soul's light beamed no longer

From her tearless, vacant eye.

Round her slight form hung the tresses

Braided oft with pride and care,

Silvered by that night of madness

With its anguish and despair.

She lived on to see the roses

Of another summer wane,

But the light of reason never

Shone in her sweet eyes again.

Once where blue and sparkling waters

Through a quiet valley run,

Fertilizing field and garden,

Wandered I at set of sun;

Twilight as a silver shadow

O'er the softened landscape lay,

When amid a straggling village

Paused I in my rambling way.

Plain and brown the church before me

In the little graveyard stood,

And the laborer's axe resounded

Faintly, from the neighboring wood.

Through the low, half-open wicket

Deeply worn, a pathway led:

Silently I paced its windings

Till I stood among the dead.

Passing by the grave memorials

Of departed worth and fame,

Long I paused before a record

That no pomp of words could claim:

Simple was the slab and lowly,

Shaded by a fragrant vine,

And the single name recorded,

Plainly writ, was “Madeline.”

But beneath it through the clusters

Of the jessamine I read,

“Spes,” engraved in bolder letters,—

This was all the marble said.