« AnkstesnisTęsti »
of you supposed that a man could live in forgotten that he had been trained to keep the same house with her without falling his books in the library. Harriet emin love with her, did you?"
braced him tenderly. His brother, and newly acquired bro- “We can forgive her for treating us thers-in-law rushed forward to seize his this way,” she mourned; "it is you for hand. To each of them Wilhelmina pre- whom we resent it, Father. To go out of sented a fushed and dutiful cheek. Her your house alone, and be married at the sisters did not come forward. Harriet clergyman's without an engagement, withmanaged to cross the room to put her arms out attendants, without-" round her father. He had come into the Father shook himself free. room not to assist in the discussion, -he “Now, Harriet,” he said, “don't be a had not known that a discussion was in goose. If you are talking about Wilhelprogress, -- but to find a book which he mina's wedding, she had an attendant. I had mislaid. In the years of Wilhelmina's was the attendant. Wilhelmina, where is gentle administration he had occasionally my book ?"
HEY have hauled in the gang-plank; the breast-line crawls back;
Of the storm and the night, and across to the mouth
Of the harbor, where stretching far out to the south,
Run the lights of the town.
Swinging slowly, we turn,
Pointing out for mid-lake, past the long pier, where burn
The red harbor-lights, where the great billows churn,
Blow on blow, on the spiles, spilling down the white foam-
But I 've written the home-folks that I 'm coming home.
And I 'm coming; huddled close by the slow-falling rail,
Blinking red through the mist and the spray, while the hail
Rattles down the wet decks, lifting high, with the wail
Up the wind of the fog-horn, and behind on our trail,
And we nose straight out in the teeth of the gale,
I know by the throb that the engines prevail,
And-steady, my courage ! - unless the stars fail,
We'll make it.
But tell me, O gray eyes and blue,
Did you know, in your watching, Odim eyes and true,
In that black night's wild fury, while the storm-signals flew,
While the waves beat us back, and the hoarse whistles blew –
Did you know, O my dear ones, I was coming to you?
The silence of midnight; the hiss of the swell;
The creaking of timbers; the close cabin smell ;
The slow-swaying shadows; the jar of the screw;
The wind at the shutter; the feet of the crew;
The cry of a childis he coming home, too?
There 's a rent in the night, and a star glimmers through;
The skies clear above us; the west banks up brown;
The wind dies across us; the sea 's running down;
And across the dim water, still breaking in foam,
Stretches out the far shore-line-and I 'm coming home.
The hills smile a welcome, the long night is past,
And the ship 's turning into the harbor at last.
The engines slow down; we steal through the slip,
Past the low-burning lamp, and with quivering lip,
Call down to the life-savers, cheering us on.
The weary throb sends us straight into the dawn,
Fair and white up the bay, half asleep, all adream,
In its translucent purple and pearl. Just a gleam
Out there of the earliest sail ; here the curl
Of the first lazy smoke from a cabin,-a girl
Loops up the long vines at the doorway. A swirl
Of white water behind us; then a stir at the dock.
Steam slowly! The head-line- the stern-line, the shock
As we swing alongside, and across the plank flock
Wan faces, with breath still a-quiver, the roar
Of the night still above and about them, the floor
Still uncertain; but over the grateful, brown loam
We crowd to the shore-boat-and I 'm coming home.
And away to the north, over depths of cool green
From the bluffs overhead, where the deep-set ravine
Digs down to the heart of the wood, while a stream
Trickles out over sands drifting white and the pier
Reaches out through the water to meet us! We 're here!
From the pier to the boat-house and far down the shore
Flutters back to the group at the old farm-house door
The word that I 'm coming; and from wrinkled old hands,
As the dear old feet toil through the weary, white sands,
Bringing welcome and welcome, from boat-house and strand,
The hurrying, white-winged signals all come-
God pity the mortal who has never come home.
And I? I 'm not worth it. But, gray eyes and blue!
While the storms beat about me, 0 dear hearts and true!
Or the fogs, Alinging far, blot the stars from the blue,
If the pole-star leads on or the rudder swings true,
It 's not heaven I 'm after-I 'm coming to you.
But heaven it will be when down the blue dome
Flutter out the white signals that I 'm coming home.
(TIMOTHY COLE'S WOOD ENGRAVINGS OF MASTERPIECES IN AMERICAN GALLERIES-V)
SCENE AT THE CORONATION OF KING GEORGE V AND QUEEN MARY,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, JUNE 22, 1911
FROM A LITHOGRAPH BY JOSEPH PENNELL, BASED ON SKETCHES MADE DURING
THE REHEARSAL AND THE ACTUAL CEREMONY
The center of the picture shows the “theater" with steps, erected at the junction of choir, sanctuary,
and transepis where the King, after being crowned, sat enthroned, and received homage.