The book of gold, and other poems . N. For her self-forgetfulness even extended to her dress; Milliner and mantua-maker never crossed her threshold more;But the bodice, and the bonnet with the wondrous bow upon it, Kept their never-changing fashion of the faded years before. AUNT HANNAH. 63 So she still goes up and down on her errands through the town; And sometimes a school-girl titters, or an urchin stops to grin,Or a *village cur barks at her; but to her tis little matterâ You may fleer or you may flatterâsuch deep peace her soul is in. Among all the sick and poor there is nobody so sure Of
The book of gold, and other poems . N. For her self-forgetfulness even extended to her dress; Milliner and mantua-maker never crossed her threshold more;But the bodice, and the bonnet with the wondrous bow upon it, Kept their never-changing fashion of the faded years before. AUNT HANNAH. 63 So she still goes up and down on her errands through the town; And sometimes a school-girl titters, or an urchin stops to grin,Or a *village cur barks at her; but to her tis little matterâ You may fleer or you may flatterâsuch deep peace her soul is in. Among all the sick and poor there is nobody so sure Of a welcome and a blessing; and who sees her once appear, Coming round some poor mans trellis with her dainty pots of jellies,Or big basket brimmed with bounty, soon forgets that she is queer. For her pleasant words, addressed to the needy and distressed,Are so touching and so tender, full of sympathy and cheer, By the time your smile is ready for the simple, dear old lady,It is pretty sure to tremble in the balance with a TOMS COME HOME. With its heavily rocking and swinging load,The stage-coach rolls up the mountain mowers lean on their scythes and say, Hullo ! what brings Big George this way?The children climb the slats and waitTo see him drive past the door-yard gate;When, four in hand, sedate and grand,He brings the old craft like a ship to the window, mild grandmotherly eyesBeam from their glasses with quaint surprise,Grow wide with wonder, and guess, and doubt;Then a quick, half-stifled voice shrieks out,Tom! Toms come home! The face at the casement disappears,To shine at the door, all joy and tears,As a traveller, dusty and bearded and brown,Over the wheel steps lightly , mother! My son! And to his breastA forward-tottering form is lies there, and cries there; now at arms-lengthAdmires his manly size and strength(While he winks hard one misty eye);Then calls to the youngsters staring nighâ Quick ! go for your granther! run,
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