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50
THE MOTION tWTUHE ISTOH^ MAGAZL\£
How the beggar music-teacher was the lord of land and gold.
Long he juggled decision ; then he bowed his lofty head.
''You have earned Marie, my daughter. I will give her you," he said.
' ' Nay, ' ' answered the lover, sadly, ' ' not unless she wills to wed. ' '
In the silent room he waited patiently, his joy delayed ;
Then the heavy curtains parted, and his heart stood still, afraid.
All the hopeless love and longing of the dim, unfruitful years
Clogged his tongue and veiled his eyelids with a mist of weary tears ;
Then he felt her quivering fingers lightly touch his whitened cheek,
And her warm lips trembling, eager with the words she could not speak.
Past the hunger and the heartaches ; past the anger and the pain ;
In her soft arms, shy enfolding, he found Eden-time again.
''I have waited long, my dearest," cried the lover, joyously;
''Now before tomorrow's sunset you shall be my wife, Marie."
In a blur of rose and ochre, waked his happiest day of days ;
Seated at his long-hushed organ, Joseph lets his fingers stray,
Telling all his soul's rejoicing in a hymn of stately praise.
Notes of rare and radiant beauty wove the texture of his dream;
Then, in solemn exultation, mounted to one chord supreme,
Like Earth's pean of thanksgiving ending in a great Amen!
A strange chord of mighty power that he could not find again.
"When I bring her home," he pondered, "it will come back to me then."
Swung the mission bells that sunset on a livid, ruined sky, And the winds across the vineyards were an eerie banshee cry. In a world all red and fevered with the stain of afterglow, Down the uplands from the chapel moved a sad procession slow. Straight as a mown lily blossom, blenched as fragile ocean foam,
"down the uplands from the chapel'