| |
| LONE o’er the moors I stray’d; | |
| With basely timid mind, | |
| Because by some betray’d, | |
| Denouncing human-kind; | |
| I heard the lonely wind, | 5 |
| And wickedly did mourn | |
| I could not share its loneliness, | |
| And all things human scorn. | |
| |
| And bitter were the tears | |
| I cursèd as they fell; | 10 |
| And bitterer the sneers | |
| I strove not to repel: | |
| With blindly mutter’d yell, | |
| I cried unto mine heart,— | |
| ‘Thou shalt beat the world in falsehood, | 15 |
| And stab it ere we part.’ | |
| |
| My hand I backward drave | |
| As one who seeks a knife; | |
| When startlingly did crave | |
| To quell that hand’s wild strife | 20 |
| Some other hand; all rife | |
| With kindness, clasp’d it hard | |
| On mine, quick frequent claspings | |
| That would not be debarr’d. | |
| |
| I dared not turn my gaze | 25 |
| To the creature of the hand; | |
| And no sound did it raise, | |
| Its nature to disband | |
| Of mystery; vast, and grand, | |
| The moors around me spread, | 30 |
| And I thought, some angel message | |
| Perchance their God may have sped. | |
| |
| But it press’d another press, | |
| So full of earnest prayer, | |
| While o’er it fell a tress | 35 |
| Of cool, soft, human hair, | |
| I fear’d not;—I did dare | |
| Turn round, ’twas Hannah there! | |
| O! to no one out of heaven | |
| Could I what pass’d declare. | 40 |
| |
| We wander’d o’er the moor | |
| Through all that blessèd day; | |
| And we drank its waters pure, | |
| And felt the world away; | |
| In many a dell we lay, | 45 |
| And we twined flower-crowns bright; | |
| And I fed her with moor-berries | |
| And bless’d her glad eye-light. | |
| |
| And still that earnest pray-er | |
| That saved me many stings, | 50 |
| Was oft a silent sayer | |
| Of countless loving things;— | |
| I’ll ring it all with rings, | |
| Each ring a jewell’d band; | |
| For heaven shouldn’t purchase | 55 |
| That little sister hand. | |
| |
