  BY MARY YOUNG.
Stern passions rose, and won wild mastery In Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on, From the calm fountain and the olive grove, Toward the wilderness, as he would find Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts. Long had he loved her with a matchless love, Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth; And she was his—by every sacred tie— His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell, That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses: Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal To her large, azure eye a startled glance Of sad, deep questioning, and she would turn Appealingly to heaven, with trembling tears— Yet was it she—the very same he saw, Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton. One fearful word broke from the quivering lips Of the young Hebrew, as at last alone, By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock, He sank in agony; and then he bent His forehead down to the cool, mossy turf, And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants, And one long spray of the white thornless rose, Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft sound Of far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear, Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept. Ere long his ear heard not: all things around, The present and the past—the painful past— Became as though they were not. Joseph lay, With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peace Breathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one, Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth, Bending in kindness o'er him. Calmly still, Although to ecstasy his being drank, The fathomless, pure music of the voice Heard in that visioned hour, as once again He stood by the low portal of the home Of Mary. He passed in with noiseless step. Through the dim vine-leaves of the lattice Not a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer ray Than ever streamed from alabaster lamps, Lit the white vesture and the upturned face Of her who knelt in meekness there. Her lips Were motionless, and the slight clasping hands Pressed lightly on her bosom, but a high Seraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hush Of the pure, radiant features; for she held Unsoiled communion with her spirit's lord. Slowly away faded that glorious trance, And the white lids lifted as though reluctant. She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flush Swept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still, She felt, and painfully, that at the bar Of manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness. But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered brow Of Joseph, told no anger. He drew near, And knelt beside her; and the hand she gave In greeting was pressed close and silently, With reverent tenderness, upon his heart. |
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