orn;
No more vexing the master
With putting his rules to scorn;
No more feeding of white lambs
With milk from the foaming pail;
No more playing "see-saw"
Over the fence of rail;
No more telling of stories
After we've gone to bed;
Nor talking of ghosts and goblins
Till we fairly shiver with dread;
No more whispering fearfully
And hugging each other tight,
When the shutters shake and the dogs howl
In the middle of the night;
No more saying "Our Father,"
Kneeling by mother's knee--
For, Maggie, I _struck_ sister!
And mother is dead, you see.
Maggie, sister's an angel,
Isn't she? Isn't it true?
For angels have golden tresses
And eyes like sister's, blue?
Now _my_ hair isn't golden,
My eyes aren't blue, you see--
Now tell me, Maggie, if I were to die,
Could they make an angel of me?
You say, "Oh, yes"; you think so?
Well, then, when I come to die,
We'll play up there, in God's garden--
We'll play there, sister and I.
Now, Maggie, you needn't eye me
Because I'm talking so queer;
Because I'm talking so strangely;
You needn't have the least fear,
Somehow I'm feeling to-night, Maggie,
As I never felt before--
I'm sure, I'm sure of it, Maggie,
I never shall rave any more.
Maggie, you know how these long years
I've heard her calling, so sad,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so mournful?
It always drives me _mad_!
How the winter wind shrieks down the chimney,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" oh! oh!
How the south wind wails at the casement,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so low,
But most of all when the May-days
Come back, with the flowers and the sun,
How the night-bird, singing, all lonely,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" doth moan;
You know how it sets me raving--
For _she_ moaned, "_Oh, Bessie!_" just so,
That time I _struck_ little sister,
On the May-day long ago!
Now, Maggie, I've something to tell you--
You know May-day is here--
Well, this very morning, at sunrise,
The robins chirped "Bessie!" so clear--
All day long the wee birds singing,
Perched on the garden wall,
Called "Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sweetly,
I couldn't feel sorry at all.
Now, Maggie, I've something to tell you--
Let me lean up to you close--
Do you see how the sunset has flooded
The heavens with yellow and rose?
Do you see o'er the gilded cloud mountains
Sister's golden hair streaming out?
Do you see her little hand beckoning?
Do you hear her little voice calling out
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so glad