The Dreaming Wheel.

Down slant the moonbeams to the floor     Through the garret's scented air,     And show a thin-spoked spinning-wheel,     Standing ten years and more     Far from the hearth-stone's woe and weal, -     The ghost of a lost day's care!     And over the dreaming spinning-wheel,     That has not stirred so long,     The weaving spiders spin a veil,     A silvery shroud for its human zeal     And usefulness, with their fingers pale,     The shadowy lights among.     See! in the moonlight cold and gray     A thoughtful maiden stands;     And though she blames not overmuch     With her sweet lips the great world's way,     Yet sad and slow she stoops to touch     The still wheel with her hands.     "Forsaken wheel! when you first came     To clothe young hearts and old,     Our ancestors were glad to wear     Your woof, nor knew the shame     Which later days have bred, to share     The homespun's simple fold!     "My lover's gone to win for me,     With tender pride and care,     Riches to garnish all our days;     But love thrives in simplicity     As well as in the prouder ways,     If noble thought is there!     "When our strong grandsires vowed to wed,     Stout knots of wool, and corn,     Were gathered in, and hardly more     Of what will count not when we're dead!     Life brought them to a happy shore,     Who set their sails at dawn.     "O silent wheel! we weave a sad,     Weak fabric of our days;     The faith that moved thee long is gone;     Forgot, the couple, lass and lad,     Who loved with courage deeply drawn,     Heeding but God's delays!     "On thy long loneliness the sun     Blazes in dread, the moon     Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue!     And while the golden sand-grains run,     Old age comes nearer; and like you     I may be standing silent - soon!     "Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes     Back to the humble door;     Waste not the youthful years in hand.     See where the truest comfort lies,     And join the freer old-time band,     Nor crave a worldly store!     "In Freedom's land let no one know     Even the chain of ease,     Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance.     From peasant-hands fair art can grow;     From the rough brow thought springs with lance     And helmet: God loves these!"     She wept; then raised her head, and swung     The aged wheel with whispering whir;     And as it turned, it softly sung     (In fancy) this response to her: -     "I had not spun the sower's shirt,     I had not kept the children warm,     If I had found a wearing harm     In my monotonous toil alert.     "To those who wait with eager eyes     And ready hands and tender hearts, -     They find the giant year, that parts,     Hath forged strong links with paradise!     "Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass     To let the golden sand-grains run,     While longer shadows of the sun     Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass!     "The circumstances of a life     Are little things compared to it;     The way love's shown is ever fit;     Thank God, who gives us love, not strife!     "And if I do not stand beside     The hearth, as fifty years ago,     No current of the years that flow     Can rob the radiance from a bride!     "I know not why the world should change,     I know not why my day is done;     And yet this limit of my zone     Hints of the limit to all range.     "Man's progress always alters tint,     As mountains move from rose to gray;     Yet like their shapes, love still doth stay     The same, complete, - 'tis God's imprint.     "And yet I dream Time yet may turn     Its wheel to weave the humbler thought,     As in old days. When joy is sought,     Men find it where the hearth-fires burn."