In The Mining Town
''Tis the last time, darling,' he gently said,
As he kissed her lips like the cherries red,
While a fond look shone in his eyes of brown:
'My own is the prettiest girl in town.
To-morrow the bell from the tower will ring
A joyful peal. Was there ever a king
So truly blest, on his royal throne,
As I shall be when I claim my own!'
'T was a fond farewell; 't was a sweet good-by;
But she watched him go with a troubled sigh,
As into the basket, that swayed and swung
O'er the yawning abyss, he lightly sprung;
And the joy of her heart seemed turned to woe
As they lowered him into the depths below.
Her sweet young face, with its tresses brown,
Was the fairest face in the mining town.
Lo the morning came! but the marriage-bell
High up in the tower rang a mournful knell
For the true heart buried 'neath earth and stone,
Far down in the heart of the mine alone, ―
A sorrowful peal on their wedding-day
For the breaking heart and the heart of clay;
And the face that looked from her tresses brown
Was the saddest face in the mining town.
Thus time rolled along on its weary way,
Until fifty years with their shadows gray
Had darkened the light of her sweet eyes' glow
And had turned the brown of her hair to snow
Oh! never a kiss from a husband's lips,
Or the clasp of a child's sweet finger-tips,
Had lifted one moment the shadows brown
From the saddest heart in the mining town!
Far down in the depths of the mine, one day
In the loosened earth they were digging away,
They discovered a face, so young, so fair;
From the smiling lip to the bright brown hair
Untouched by the finger of Time's decay.
When they drew him up to the light of day
The wondering people gathered round
To gaze at the man thus strangely found.
Then a woman came from among the crowd,
With her long white hair, and her slight form bowed.
She silently knelt by the form of clay,
And kissed the lips that were cold and gray.
Then the sad old face, with its snowy hair
On his youthful bosom lay pillowed there.
He had found her at last his waiting bride,
And the people buried them side by side.
The Luck Of Muncaster
A legend of merrie England.
Beside the crystal well she stood,
Fair Margaret, Lowther's daughter,
Clear hazel eyes smiled back at her
Up from the sparkling water.
The sunlight fell on tresses bright,
Tresses half brown, half golden,
While at her feet Lord William knelt,
And told the story olden.
An outlaw border chieftain he,
Of haughty mien and carriage,
With earnest words on bended knee
Besought her hand in marriage.
'My life with thine,' the lady said,
'Can never be united;
To brave Sir John of Muncaster
This hand of mine is plighted.'
'My vengeance,' cried the dark-browed Scot,
'On thee, proud Lowther's daughter!
This lord of thine shall not be safe
From me on land or water!'
Disdainful smiled the lady then:
'Thy threats are unavailing;
While Sir John owns the sacred cup,
Mischance can ne'er assail him.'
''T was Henry Sixth pronounced the charm
(A glass cup was the token),
'In Muncaster good luck shall reign
Till this charmed cup is broken!'
A hundred years the charm hath held
Its power beyond undoing;
Good luck attends Muncaster lords
In battle and in wooing.'
'And this the luck of Muncaster?'
Said the rejected lover.
'The charm hath stood a hundred years,
It shall not stand another.'
Then straight to Carlisle tower he rode:
'My lord,' he cried, 'make ready,
For Douglas comes with Scottish hordes!
Each arm is strong and steady.'
'Prepare to give them battle now,
And mete out justice measure;
Or send some trusted messenger
For thy most valued treasure.'
'Small treasure have I,' Sir John said,
'But one in casket oaken
I fain would save from plundering hand,
Untarnished and unbroken.'
'Go thou and bring the gem I prize;
Thou art no foe or stranger,
Else why hast rode this weary way
To warn me of my danger?'
And ere the bat had winged its flight
Across night's sable curtain
The dark-browed knight of Liddersdale
Had done the message certain.
'Now, by my lady's lips, I swear,
Thy friendship is amazing,'
Cried gay Sir John of Muncaster,
Into the dark face gazing.
'Swear not by lips of her you love, ―
You never more shall press them;
Bright are the locks of Margaret's hair, ―
No more shalt thou caress them.'
Exclaimed the fiery Scot in glee,
'I hold the precious token
That binds good luck to thee and thine, ―
That charmed spell shall be broken.
Behold I dash it to the earth!
In vain thy deepest regret;
Douglas shall win thy palace tower,
And I the lady Marg'ret.'
The traitor fled; Sir John sank down
Beside the casket oaken:
O miracle! the crystal cup
Lay there unharmed, unbroken!
Two thousand soldiers came in time
To stay the Douglas slaughter,
And gay Sir John was married to
Fair Margaret, Lowther's daughter.
