Aimee's Soliloquy.



And has she gone--that fair, frail, gentle flower--
Out in this scene of winter's frost-forged power?
Oh, heaven, have I been selfish in my woe?
Sweet angels guard her through the blinding snow.
Ethel, my child, my comforter, my stay,
It seems a long dream since the summer day
When first she came to me, in that far land
Where the bright Darro laves the gleaming sand.
'Neath the blue skies of Spain her baby feet
First walked amid the southern bowers, sweet
With breath of jasemine; and the green vines twined
Their gentle arms, clasping the golden rind
Of ripened oranges, and the rose-hung bowers
Glowed with the glory of a thousand flowers.
And oft at night, up the dark waters came
The splash of oars, beneath the stars white flame
Sounded the solemn chant of sailors nigh,
"Ave Maria! save us, hear our cry."
But to my babe and I there came no hymn,
No hallowing words amid the olives dim,
Only the same dark blight on every scene,
The leper's mournful cry, "Unclean, unclean."
For then 'twas whispered that dark deeds of shame
Wreathed with a viper's slime our household name.