Read Ebook: Victor Roy a Masonic Poem by Wilkins Harriet Annie

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Ebook has 256 lines and 22777 words, and 6 pages

Out in the blinding and pitiless sleet, The young girl goes on her errand blest; She starts at each sound on the lonely street, As she longs for, but dares not dream of rest.

She knows not the worth of the gem she holds Close to her breast, in her thinly clad hands; A martyr's courage her soul enfolds, And a guardian angel near her stands.

She shudders oft as she passes by Some staggering form, whose ribald curse Seems, 'mid the storms of that stormy sky, To make the loneliness ten times worse.

Now on the icy pavement she stands, Now is plunged deep in a drift of snow, Now she is rubbing her freezing hands Scarcely knowing which way she must go.

She thinks of the past, the long dark past, And blights that follow a drunkard's child, And the tears she strive's to check fall fast, And turn to ice in that night so wild.

For we all know how, in the darkest shade, Dreams of the sunniest light will come To one in a foreign hospital laid, No words so dear as, "My home, sweet home!"

And Ethel sees visions of sunny bowers Where once she played with the ring-doves mild, 'Mid the piercing blast she can scent the flowers She plucked with joy when a little child.

Then she starts in fear, and a nameless dread, As she thinks of her mother o'er and o'er, Keeping lone watch with one lying dead, In that fearful stillness, behind the door;.

And, raising her trembling heart to Heaven, She asks of Him, who careth for birds, That help and strength may to her be given, And not in air die her earnest words.

She reaches the end of the lonely gloom, She scarcely knows if in fear or joy, She passes on to a snug warm room And stands in the presence of Victor Roy.

With tremulous efforts the timid girl Strives to utter her story of grief, all things grow of a dizzy whirl As she shivering stands like an aspen leaf.

He looks at the eyes so earnest and sad, He hears the voice that is sweet and mild, He sees a figure scantily clad, And only mutters, "Why, that is the child."

He looks at the snowflakes melting fast From the faded hood and the mantle fold, While his thoughts go dreamily into the past, And now he is young and now he is old.

He has taken the jewel in his hand, He knows the mark which that Key-stone bears; Upon any sea, upon any land, The sign of a brother that jewel wears.

He looks at the Key-stone, with eyes whose ray Grows dreamy like a somnambulist, and Ethel murmurs, "I saw you to-day At the church of St. John, the Evangelist.

Have I done any wrong in coming here? 'Twas only this evening my father died, And mother is lonely and full of fear; We have no friend in this world so wide."

And hearing the mournful voice again, Seemed the unexplained spell to break; And, in tones which were partly born of pain And partly of hopefulness, Victor spake:

"Come nearer the fire, little girl, and tell me why here you came. Why did you bring this jewel to me? How did you learn my name? Your father is dead, this was not his; your name is Ethel Adair. Adair, Adair, it seems like a dream; I have heard that name, but where? There, rest yourself child, it's cold to-night, you can tell me by and by Where you are from, and where you live--what do you say, will I buy? Do not fear little girl, I am your friend; you cannot speak the word Of thanks you wish to say, never mind, for there's One above has heard. Were you born in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright, Your parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's height. Where do you live? What there, in that wretched barn of a place! A man who can rent such dens should meet the contempt of his race. What have you had to eat to-day? Why, how have you lived it out? Your mother and you did sewing; oh yes, at starvation prices, no doubt. Him? I know the man you have worked for then, he keeps his carriage and pair, Gives largely to missionary funds, and is long and loud in grayer. Never mind, the same All-Seeing Eye watches them come and go, That noted the whited sepulchre two thousand years ago. There, take that coffee and cake, and when you are rested I'll come And see what has to be done in your lonely, desolate home. And Jasper, you'll come along to take care of us both, and please bring Something to eat; a basket? yes, filled with every good thing. There, don't be long Jasper, time flies; yes, I know it is growing late, And Una and her lion have not so very long to wait. You used to read of Una, and wonder what made the lion stay; Lions are useful, Ethel, sometimes to keep the jackals away. Why child, are you ready so soon? Will you be my little guide? Oh, I cannot tell you the worth of this; do you know where your grandpa died? You would rather I bought it--all right--who is at home, only your mother, dear? A brother's daughter and orphan child must not perish while I am near. You knew that God would help you, have you learnt to trust and love Him too? There's another link between us then, ever old and ever new. You're afraid the storm will hurt me, you are used to the frosty air; We'll brave it together for once, so come little Ethel Adair.

Aimee's Soliloquy.

"Evening's gloom is round me now, Evening's breeze is whispering low, Gentle murmuring voices wake From the ripples of the lake. Maker of the land and sea, Hear my humble evening plea, Father, hear me as I pray, One I love is far away.

In his hours of gladsome mirth, Round some warm and welcome hearth, In the halls of keen debate, And the pomp and pride of state, Cheer his spirit with love's beams Lighten up his midnight dreams; In his wanderings free and wild, Father, keep him, as Thy child.

From the pestilential blight, From the sun-beams scorching light, From temptation's mighty power, In some lone unguarded hour. From the dangers that we know, From the dark undreamt of foe, From the death-splash of the wave, Father, hear and help and save."

Then came the tidings brought by Robert's hand, Victor lay buried in a far off land; Died, wafting my name up to Heaven in prayer, Leaving his promised bride to Robert's care. Oft it has puzzled me, until my brain Has racked itself from thinking into pain, Why Victor left me thus, for in the past He surely loved not Robert, perhaps at last He saw things differently and thought it best And had his wishes writ, e're he could rest. But oh, the agony of those past hours; It seems on looking back, that all my flowers Looked mournfully at me and drooped their heads, And lay like dying children in their beds; And the bright birds in the vine-covered wall Sang the sad chords of "The Dead March in Saul;" And I was living, but all else were dead, The sunbeam shimmered sickly o'er my head, As when a ray peers in a darkened room, Where one beneath a pall awaits his tomb. Robert was ever near when Victor died, And soon he sought to win me for his bride; He told me how he'd loved me many years, Loved him I loved, kindly he dried my tears, Pictured my desolate and lonely lot, Urged me to go with him to some new spot Where all the past should be but as a dream, And our lives glide gently down life's stream. I told him that my heart was far away, Beneath the palm where Victor's body lay; That nightly in my dreams I heard the splash Upon the shores where Ganges' waters dash. I told him all my hope now was to stand Amid the quiet of God's summerland; Beneath another palm tree's shade to be, And list the murmurs of the crystal sea. But Robert loved me; I became his wife; Could I forsee the sunken rocks of life? And he was handsome then, and kind, and bright; Could I foretell eclipses? then the night. Oh, I have looked sometimes upon that face, When robbed of every lineament of grace, And I have cried unto the heavens above, "It was not this, O God, I pledged to love; Unsteady gait, wild brain and selfish heart--" Flashed the red lights of danger "till death part." Tell me, soul-searching ray, if erst I strove To cherish, feed and guard where grew no love. We sailed away to far Australia's shore, Oh, the long days passed near the ocean's roar. For him on whom I leaned in hope and trust, Proved but coarse clay that crumbled soon to dust. Drinking and gambling, sharks that swallow whole, Homes, jewels, money, reason, body, soul. Alone, for weeks to hear none call my name, And happier alone; then baby came, My firstborn, precious boy, I lived for him For months; then his bright eyes grew dim, And where the reeds and grass grew rank and wild, We made a grave for Willie, darling child. Ah, well I ween the night we laid him there, I went to watch his grave; day had been fair, But eve came up with thunder's muttered growl, And ever and anon the lightning's scowl Flashed angrily upon me as I viewed The breakers dashing on the sea beach rude. I grew passionate amid the whirlwind's sigh, It had no word of comfort, loud was its cry, And deep, dark was the struggle of my soul, As I watched the billows onward roll. There came no ray of hope across my breast, As I turned toward my place of wild unrest; I looked in vain for calmness, up on high, It was not God's time for rainbows in the sky. I went again next eve; there was no storm, The full moon lighted up each darkening form; 'Twas the glory of a summer's bloom, And I went onward to my baby's tomb. I laid fresh flowers above the cold in death, I felt upon my cheek warm zephyr's breath, It seemed as if an angel had swept by Across the grass where I too longed to lie; And I saw the glorious sweep of moonbeams Gilding the white rocks, circling all the streams With rays of glory; I knelt on the bank, Watching the picture, till my lone heart sank Down to the depths; I could have slept to death, My wounds seemed to defy the balmy breath Of nature to restore my peace; my hands I stretched out o'er the sea to northern lands, I moved so swiftly o'er the moon gilt foam, I stood once more within my father's home, Could almost hear the village bells ring out, Could almost hear the merry children's shout, Could breathe the scent of violet and rose, Walked down the dells where the pale primrose grows. Ah, tell the truth, felt once again the bliss Of Victor's loving clasp and burning kiss, Felt his fond arms enfold me to his breast, And I a bird safe in its shadowy nest, And then the vision vanished; I was there, A prey to sorrow, loneliness and care, Like one who spends in a dark mine his life, My baby dead, and I a drunkard's wife. Then came a thought on Him of Mary born, Who turned not back for spear or cross or thorn, And through the murmurings of breeze and bay, A voice seemed whispering to me, "Watch and pray." I knelt as He knelt on the grassy sod, And following Him I prayed for strength from God; A sweet bird suddenly broke into song, A soft air trembled through the branches strong, And my soul rose on the pure air to Heaven, Thus to my heart was hope and comfort given. While by that grave I sang "Abide with me," As on the night when Victor went to sea; Ah, I was leaning then upon the breast That five-and-twenty years has been at rest. Oh, Victor! art thou gone so far away That thou cans't hear no earth tone night or day? Sometimes it seems as if thou wert not far, Nearer and warmer than the nearest star. How the wind moans--Ethel, my precious one, Where shall we wander by to-morrow's sun? Homeless and friendless in a stranger land, Our Saviour help and aid; Thy mighty hand Can save, Thine ear can list each bitter moan. Hark! Ethel's voice, she comes, and not alone!

Twelve Month's After.

Still rolleth onward time's mystical tide, Ebbing and flowing by night and day; Gladness and misery scattering wide, Gladness and misery turning away.

Fair Spring has been with her emerald leaves, Red Summer with roses of crimson ray, Brown Autumn has passed with its golden sheaves, Again St. John the Evangelist's day.

Since the morning came, Masonic bands Have gathered, old friendship's ties to renew; True hands have been clasped in a brother's hands, Calm rest and refreshment fall like dew.

Far over the roll of the billowy seas, Strangers have met on the lodge-room floor, And like Israel encamped beneath Elim's trees, Have thirsted for love's cool draught no more.

From the ice-wrought chain of the Arctic zone, To the silver-lit sands of rich Peru; From the shores which guard Victoria's throne, To the woods of the west, unshorn and new.

In the crowded street, full of noise and cheer, In hamlets and villages, still and calm; Where the northern bear glides cold and clear, Or the southern cross tints the sacred palm.

Over the face of this wonderful earth, Templars haye met in Encampment dear, Prisoners of hope have changed sighing for rest, Pilgrims have tarried where angels were near.

Souls that were longing for far better things, Their faith growing dulled by the Siroc's blight, Have shaken the dust from their weary wings, And plumed them again for a higher flight.

They have spoke of the work of the by-gone year, Of Ashlers now perfected true and square, Of weary hands folded upon the bier, Of souls passed on to a lodge room fair.

They have told of storms from the North, so chill, How dark was the South when the daylight ceased; They have watched the sun neath the Western hill, They have hailed his light in the holy East.

They have sang of the victor knights whose swords, Are sharpened to slay the dark hosts of sin; Still marching on through Saracen hordes, Till the King's Encampment at last they win.

They have knelt in prayer round the altar's shade, And implored what man never asks in vain, That creation's Grand Architect will aid, The builders to build till calm rest they gain.

Brave hearts have brightened love's armor anew, And so shall the magical spell last on, Till all who have worked by his pattern true, Shall meet face to face their beloved St. John.

Within the dwelling of Victor Roy, A fair girl awakens soft music's power, And a woman listens in silent joy, To the thrilling strains at that quiet hour.

"Ethel, my child, cease playing, come to me, There, lean your head upon your mother's knee, Do you remember dear what night this is? Look back at last St. John's day, then at this, You've often wondered why upon that night, When you my guide led from the gloom to light; That when you gave the name Adair it seemed, To him who heard it, as if he had dreamed. Like a dim funeral knell from some old chime, Heard years ago, in some far distant clime, Ethel, we should speak kindly of the dead, Unable to defend themselves, their spirits fled To worlds unknown to us, we cannot see The homes they occupy, the destiny It pleases God to give them, this we know That our reaping must be what we sow, If we plant thistles, we the thorn shall meet, If we sow ripe grains, we shall harvest wheat, And something else we know of future life, That be the memories of war and strife, Of evil thoughts which may have been controlled Of hearts through which wild passions unchecked rolled; Of base mean deeds that burn like felon brand, In the pure sunlight of the eternal land; Or if sweet recollections of the past, Of homes where love her golden radiance cast, Of deeds of mercy unto man unknown, But breathing incense to the star-gemmed throne; We know that not one of Adamic race, Is unknown unto Him, the Lord of Grace, And with the thoughts that shape themselves to prayer, We can but leave them in His gracious care, Who, as sharp nails were piercing each vein through, Prayed 'Father forgive, they know not what they do,' And preached of mercy to the souls in prison, Ere He from the well guarded tomb had risen; So darling think as gently as you may, On one you saw so sadly pass away. But duty bids me tell you, deeds of shame, Stamped dark dishonor on our household name, When we were living in the distant west, A trouble came; grief was no stranger guest, For racking fears sad day and anxious night, Seemed to hold life-long leases as their right, The trouble came through some high words at play. All I know was before noon next day, A letter came bidding me leave that night; Bring what I could and let none know my flight, To change my name, and if need be to swear I never knew 'Montrose' only 'Adair.' Part truth, part falsehood born of inward shame, That sank the true one for the middle name, I heard that dark red stains ended a strife Began in so-called play, and closed with life. I know for many months a namless dread, Hung like the sword of Damocles overhead, And we again had crossed the stormy main And hid away among the hills of Spain, But when you were an infant, nurse and I Took you one morning ere the sun was high, And in the little church covered with vines, O'er which the setting sun in glory shines, We gave you into the good Shepherd's Care Amid our falling tears and Heaven sent prayer; And there without respect to friends or foes, Stands your true name, Ethel Adair Montrose. My child before you close your eyes to-night, With no forebodings for to-morrow's light, Return your heartfelt thanks to Him whose hand Has led us safely through a desert land, Has kept our feet on many a slippery way, And guided us from midnight to the day, Lay at the Glorious Giver's blessed feet, All that he asks, your time that passes fleet, Your heart's first holiest love, your talents give To him who scorned not death, that we may live."

Mother, I'll not forget, To ask rich blessings upon you and him, Whom God sent as a life boat to the lost, A year ago to-night, when on the dim Dark seas of woe, our bark was tempest toss'd, The sun of hope had set.

I'm glad I went to-day, And laid a cross upon that snow-strewn grave, The sun gleamed out and on the white leaves burned, It seems as if the childhood love, I gave The one that calmly sleeps there, had returned Watch to keep o'er his clay.

And yet it's not the same In quality, the love I cherish now Has more of pity perhaps; another one Has surely right to my allegiance; how Can I forget all he for us has done? Hark! now he calls my name.

Ethel! where are you, there is the group you were speaking about one day, Do you know the faces, two you love best, then drive those tears away, What is there to cry for child, in a locket that's new and bright, It was to have been your Christmas gift, but it's just as good to-night, It bears the name of the day you came to spoil my dog and cat, My birds and me too I'm afraid, if you say much more like that. Sing me something instead, it's scarcely supper time yet--my child; I see you are weary, go and rest while these winter winds blow wild, Ethel, before you say 'good night,' we will sing "Abide with me," As I heard it twenty-six years ago the night I went to sea.

And softly upon the evening air, The strain of praise from true hearts was given And angels wafted the holy prayer, Like incense up to the throne of Heaven.

"Good night, sweet Ethel," a silence fell Solemn and calm, by no whisper broke, Two sat watching the fire, a spell Seemed holding each, until Victor spoke.

"Of what are you thinking so earnestly, you fancy I know the thought, That has grown to deep for utterance, with strange sad memories fraught, A year, a memorable year ago, yes, we shall ne'er forget, That day of St. John the Evangelist, that night when two old friends met, 'Twas a dreary watching too my love, all that night in solemn gloom, Where the dead lay cold and silently, waiting his lonely tomb, I am glad that Ethel went to-day, and laid a cross on that grave, I am glad that we each can truly say at the judgement day, 'I forgave,' I read some lines the other day, that may have been written for us, Heart histories repeat themselves like others, the lines ran thus:

"And midnight wearily stole on, Heavy clouds o'er the young moon swept, We looked out upon life and prayed We looked upon the dead and wept, That God can work while man looks on, That truth will triumph o'er our dread, A lesson sometimes hard to learn, We learnt while watching by the dead.

'Twas not a scene that lovers choose, Did any say that we had loved, The dead was by us, yet we knew, That we were living and beloved, Truth's talisman was on each heart Oh was there sin in what we said, The troubles told, the truth confessed, The night we watched beside the dead."

Aimee, look at this jewel rich, I have worn it the live long day, You think I value it, so I do, yet I deem it worthless clay, Compared with the other jewel rare, this Keystone brought to me, Bright gem, long hidden but not destroyed in some unfathomed sea, More honorable than golden fleece, more precious than the stone, That alchemysts seek vainly for, or gems of a regal crown, A Keystone brought to light once more, all uninjured by the storm, The rains of fire that have swept round my other jewel's form, For the fire doth but clear the dross, the waves but wash the dust, From off the jewels of purest gold, such jewels I hold in trust, For I should have claimed you still as mine, if we never more had met, Till free from stain of sorrow or sin we stand where hope's suns ne'er set, Where angels live on, in their life of love, unchanged yet ever new, And then the time, God's own right time would have come for my taking you, For this re-union upon earth, is the sign, beloved wife Of the eternal rest we'll share in the bright hereafter life; For have we not assurance blest, that whichever first goes home, Will await with loving patience, till the other one shall come,

Unto those who wear God's blessed seal upon each united heart, Those words must half their horror lose 'until death do you part,' For true love doth dissolve death's power, as spring's suns melt the snow, 'Tis the only password at the gates, through which we both must go, Where born of that benevolence which fills our Father's breast, Angelic masons now prepare our special house of rest, God's promises will never fail, if we but wait His hours, He sends His messages of peace, like His rainbow after showers, O'er one beam of that holy arch, this scroll now seems to glide, "After the dark and dreary day, it shall be light at eventide."

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

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