Verses To Order.

(For A Drawing By E. A. Abbey.)     How weary 'twas to wait! The year     Went dragging slowly on;     The red leaf to the running brook     Dropped sadly, and was gone;     December came, and locked in ice     The plashing of the mill;     The white snow filled the orchard up;     But she was waiting still.     Spring stirred and broke. The rooks once more     'Gan cawing in the loft;     The young lambs' new awakened cries     Came trembling from the croft;     The clumps of primrose filled again     The hollows by the way;     The pale wind-flowers blew; but she     Grew paler still than they.     How weary 'twas to wait! With June,     Through all the drowsy street,     Came distant murmurs of the war,     And rumours of the fleet;     The gossips, from the market-stalls,     Cried news of Joe and Tim;     But June shed all her leaves, and still     There came no news of him.     And then, at last, at last, at last,     One blessd August morn,     Beneath the yellowing autumn elms,     Pang-panging came the horn;     The swift coach paused a creaking-space,     Then flashed away, and passed;     But she stood trembling yet, and dazed:     The news had come--at last!     And thus the artist saw her stand,     While all around her seems     As vague and shadowy as the shapes     That flit from us in dreams;     And naught in all the world is true,     Save those few words which tell     That he she lost is found again--     Is found again--and well!