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Stories in Verse
written by "Abbey, Henry, 1842-1911"
... He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand, And that day galloped with her through the town, And wandered with her down magnolia lanes, And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook, That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom, Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks. [Pg 43] XV. Long o'er his writings hidden in the tree Pondered the slave, and found at last their worth. Must he return them? To whom did they belong? If he should give them back to Dalton Earl Unjustly, Richard Wain might claim them still. He chose to keep there folded round the Book, Hid in the secret hollow of the tree. He thought of Ruth as one who was at rest, And wept for her as though she was no more, And sometimes gathered flowers, and placed them where He knew she soon would pass, as tenderly As though he laid them down upon her grave. XVI. Once in the twilight, as the shadows fell, A skiff shot from the under-reaching shore, And Stanley Thane and Coralline sailed down The languid waters, 'neath the dappled moon. They spoke of giant wars that yet might be To drive the dragon Slavery from the land. Coralline smoothed the evils it had wrought. Stanley, who could not see a wrong excused, Said, "God is just; he knows nor white nor black. If war must come, each shackle will be forced, To make, at last, the nation wholly free." [Pg 44] And Karagwe, who pulled a silent oar, Shut the winged words in cages of his heart; But Coralline was angry at the speech, And rained disdain on noble Stanley's head, Scorning his Northern thought and Northern blood, And sighed that it had been their lot to meet. "If that is true," he said, "then let us part, And let us hope we shall not meet again. Adieu! for I shall see you never more." The boat was near the bank; he sprang to it, And left her sitting in the gilded prow— Her pride, a raging Hector of the hour, Fighting a thousand tears, whose war-cry rose: Thin patience brings thick ...

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