If you are looking for The Loom of Life Part 7 you are coming to the right place.
The Loom of Life is a Webnovel created by Cotton Noe.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
His little Blue Dress is hidden away From the eyes of the vulgar world,– And the dear little Shoes,–more precious are they Than silver or gold empearled– Jewels that lure like the stars above, Hidden from all but the eyes of love.
I watched him oft with a mother’s heart As he played with his dear little toys; But now he is gone, and I sit apart And muse of those vanished joys;– Dream of his eyes and his beautiful hair, And thrill with the love of a sweet despair.
The gaze of the vulgar world today Would only my jewels abuse; And this is the reason I hid them away,– The little Blue Dress and the Shoes: And I pray that in death my eyes may caress The dear little Shoes and the little Blue Dress.
Clouds of sorrow cannot hide Gleams of sunshine gilding hours Of happy memory, sweet as flowers Ever blooming by the wayside, Thronged with thorn and thistle.
Reapers binding sheaves of plenty, Think the golden dreams of twenty Thrill them deepest; and the whistle Of some lone love-dreaming bird In the meadow, wakes to memory Notes now hushed, but sweeter than the Ear of mortal ever heard.
‘Neath the cliffs near by the river Long cymes of honey-suckle grew, Odorous in the air; and the violet, too, Entangling with the phlox, and ever Entessellated beds of petal’d mosaic Stretching out before us, rich As the drapery of a dream in which The toil of life was not prosaic.
Neither can the hungry ear Enfashion music softer, sweeter, Drawn from lyre, than the meter– Rippling cascade trickling near.
Where the trailing arbutus filled the cove With a perfume as sweet as the breath of love, And the mountain ivy’s astral bloom Made radiant light of the darkest gloom, A maiden dwelt as stainless the while As the baytree’s bloom in the steep defile; And she loved a youth with a heart as true As ever has beaten for me or you.
Soon summer pa.s.sed and the autumn came With its goldenrod and its sumac flame, With its tinge of frost and its blood-red blush That made every shrub a burning bush.
Then love became pa.s.sion for maiden and youth; All vision had vanished and life was now truth; And they heard a voice in the flaming tree Which told them that marriage was nature’s decree.
When the spring beauties came and winter had fled Sue Winn and Josh Bell were happily wed; And the cowslips that bloomed in the side of the glen Were fragrant as roses in the gardens of men.
Their home was a cabin, the mountain above Was rugged and rough, and their fortune was love: But a cabin with love and vigor and health Is better than sin and a palace of wealth.
The seasons pa.s.sed by and a few brief years Brought bountiful crops to these mountaineers; And their children that played round the great hollyhocks Wore the sunniest curls and the cleanest of frocks; And old-fashioned sunflowers smiled at their door Midst beautiful pinks and pansies galore; And the mountain redbirds flashed and flew Around the rude cabin of Josh and Sue.
Ah, little you know, ye daughters of Jove, The sweetness of poverty wedded to love; Untrammeled by fashion, unsated by sin, With the feeling that life and the dewdrop are kin.
Ah, little you know who dwell among men The freedom and freshness of mountain and glen, Where the Diva of Nature gives her grand matinee In the opera of Love from a rich elder spray!
Yet the earth holds few spots where the winds never blow, And summer’s not followed by the bleak winter snow: But the harvest will fail both the rich and the poor In the deep fertile valley, on the thin healthy moor, Thus Susan grew ill and Joshua found His corn crop was short, his wheat was unsound, That drouth and disease had stricken his home With a hand that poverty couldn’t overcome.
Ah, little you care who dwell high above For the hardships of poverty wedded to love; Whose awful temptations you never can know, When the unfeeling winds of adversity blow; When the loved one is lying all helpless abed, And children are crying and begging for bread.
Yes, little you dream, ye rich sons of Jove Of the trials of love in a rough mountain cove.
Josh Bell battled bravely, and fought sin and wrong And the mighty temptation with a heart true and strong; But Susan grew weaker, till bright bloomed the rose That ever the blanched cheek of consumption shows.
“I must save her,” he cried, “Oh, G.o.d, let the cost Be my life; if she dies, I am lost, I am lost!”
And Joshua Bell smote his breast with a blow That only the frenzy of a lover can know.
At a deep hour of night when the hoot of the owl Made the dark glen as lonesome as haunt of a cowl, Josh Bell left his cabin for a cave in the hill, And began the erection of a small mountain still.
For weeks here he labored at midnight alone, With a firm resolution and a heart like a stone: Then his own golden corn he had gathered in sheaf, He now husked in darkness and stole like a thief.
Ah, Joshua Bell, the world does not know The depth of thy grief, the weight of thy woe,– The conflict of conscience and love in thy breast, The struggle of duty and shame unconfessed.
Thy act is a crime in the eyes of the law, No matter the motive, it weighs not a straw; No matter the liquid distilled be as dew That drips from the stem and chalice of rue.
But the comforts of life that lessen the pain Of those whom we love, ease conscience and brain; And Josh half forgot the cave in the hill, And the white sparkling liquor that flowed from the still, When Sue smiled and said, “By thy great sacrifice Of unceasing toil and love without price, I am better to-day; with return of the spring We can labor together where the brown thrushes sing.”
Thus Josh kept his secret, and the daffodils came That bloom but for those unworthy of blame; And Sue never knew that the gold and the gain Was purchased with liquor distilled from their grain.
But the sleuth-hounds of law found the cave in the hill At a late hour of night and raided the still; Then surrounded the cabin, and woke Josh and Sue And demanded surrender of the moonshiners, too.
With Winchester rifle Josh leaped from his couch, “I’ll never surrender, nor cower, nor crouch To cowardly villains that plunder the poor, In the guise of the law; who crosses my door, Had best make his peace with the angels above; By my life I’ll protect the darlings I love.”
Like a lion at bay, the flash of his eye, Told the brave mountaineer would shield them or die.
But the torch of the raiders lit a red flame that stung The stouted hearted Josh like a vile adder’s tongue, Till he rushed from his cabin in madness and swore He would save Sue and children or sleep nevermore.
But a flash from a rifle sent a ball through his brain, And Joshua Bell never breathed once again.
And his loved ones perished in the flame and the smoke Of his own little cabin he had hewn from the oak.
When the morning has climbed up the high eastern hill And the sunlight is dancing on ripple of rill, The coroner summons a jury and feigns An inquest of law o’er the ghastly remains.
The verdict is heard with whoop and hurrah: “These moonshiners died at the hands of the law; Let all men beware,” the coroner cried, “The murder of outlaws is just homicide.”
The flickering carbon threw a stream Of bluish light over the sleety street.
Men and women everywhere were hurrying homeward, Shivering for the comfort that was gleaming Through many a window from blazing hearths within.
The freezing rain was biting like an adder.
Down the icy thoroughfare, m.u.f.fled deep in furs and ulster, Madly rushed the Wall-street banker, Plunging through the storm and shadow, Impatient for the shelter of his mansion.
No wonder that he heeded not the darkling figure Of a little homeless waif that crouched Beneath the jutting frieze and cornice Of a rich Corinthian window;– No wonder, for the night was bitter, And his mansion yet two blocks away!
No wonder either that the wanderer Neither saw nor heard the banker, Though his tread was swift and heavy, For a mighty storm was raging!
Yet above the noise and howling Of the wind and rain and tempest, The outcast heard the shoeless footfall Of a little homeless brother, Lost amid the blinding shadows.
And soon they slept, secure and thankful, Though the maddening storm grew fiercer,– Slept, but dreamed: The window rose a richer mansion Than ever sheltered Wall-street banker– A castle wrought of childish fancy, More beauteous than the pen of romance Has pictured of the days of chivalry.
But their little dreaming childhood, Painted no baronial robber.
Saw no haughty plumed tiara, Heard no clank in Norman donjon.
In the palace, dream-constructed, Where the little waifs lay nestled In each other’s arms fraternal, Love had built a shining altar, War had laid aside his armor, And the knights that there a.s.sembled Were their little homeless brothers, Gathered from the ranks of sorrow, Orphans, outcasts, gamin, wanderers.
Out of the infinite depths of love, Floated a spirit song, Plaintive and sad as coo of dove, Burdened for sin and wrong; So tender and sweet the melody, None heard that song but he.
Out of the days of childhood joys, Faded the smile of light; The sun that dazzled other boys, For him was never bright: The birds sang sweet on every tree– All heard their songs but he.
Out of the realms of infinite light, A song of infinite glee; The faded smile of joy grew bright, “Mother is waiting for thee.”
So tender and sweet the melody, None heard that song but he.