Two little children played among the flowers, Their mothers were of kin, tho’ far apart; The children's ages were the very same E'en to an hour — and Ethel was her name,
A fair, sweet girl, with great, brown, wond'ring eyes That seemed to listen just as if they held The gift of hearing with the power of sight. Six summers slept upon her low white brow,
And dreamed amid the roses of her cheeks. Her voice was sweetly low; and when she spoke Her words were music; and her laughter rang So like an altar-bell that, had you heard
Its silvery sound a-ringing, you would think Of kneeling down and worshiping the pure. They played among the roses — it was May — And “hide and seek”, and “seek and hide”, all eve
They played together till the sun went down. Earth held no happier hearts than theirs that day: And tired at last she plucked a crimson rose And gave to him, her playmate, cousin-kin;
And he went thro’ the garden till he found The whitest rose of all the roses there, And placed it in her long, brown, waving hair. “I give you red — and you — you give me white:
What is the meaning?” said she, while a smile, As radiant as the light of angels’ wings, Swept bright across her face; the while her eyes Seemed infinite purities half asleep
In sweetest pearls; and he did make reply: “Sweet Ethel! white dies first; you know, the snow, ( And it is not as white as thy pure face ) Melts soon away; but roses red as mine
Will bloom when all the snow hath passed away.” She sighed a little sigh, then laughed again, And hand in hand they walked the winding ways Of that fair garden till they reached her home.
A good-bye and a kiss — and he was gone. She leaned her head upon her mother's breast, And ere she fell asleep she, sighing, called: “Does white die first? my mother! and does red
Live longer?” And her mother wondered much At such strange speech. She fell asleep With murmurs on her lips of red and white. Those children loved as only children can —
With nothing in their love save their whole selves. When in their cradles they had been betroth'd; They knew it in a manner vague and dim — Unconscious yet of what betrothal meant.
The boy — she called him Merlin — a love name — ( And he — he called her always Ullainee, No matter why ); the boy was full of moods. Upon his soul and face the dark and bright
Were strangely intermingled. Hours would pass Rippling with his bright prattle; and then, hours Would come and go, and never hear a word Fall from his lips, and never see a smile
Upon his face. He was so like a cloud With ever-changeful hues, as she was like A golden sunbeam shining on its face. Ten years passed on. They parted and they met
Not often in each year; yet as they grew In years, a consciousness unto them came Of human love. But it was sweet and pure.
There was no passion in it. Reverence, Like Guardian-Angel, watched o'er Innocence. One night in mid of May their faces met As pure as all the stars that gazed on them.
They met to part from themselves and the world; Their hearts just touched to separate and bleed; Their eyes were linked in look, while saddest tears Fell down, like rain, upon the cheeks of each:
They were to meet no more. Their hands were clasped To tear the clasp in twain; and all the stars Looked proudly down on them, while shadows knelt,
Or seemed to kneel, around them with the awe Evoked from any heart by sacrifice. And in the heart of that last parting hour Eternity was beating. And he said:
“We part to go to Calvary and to God — This is our garden of Gethsemane; And here we bow our heads and breathe His prayer Whose heart was bleeding, while the angels heard:
Not my will, Father! but Thine own be done.” Raptures meet agonies in such heart-hours; Gladness doth often fling her bright, warm arms Around the cold, white neck of grief — and thus
The while they parted — sorrow swept their hearts Like a great, dark stormy sea — but sudden A joy, like sunshine — did it come from God? — Flung over every wave that swept o'er them
A more than golden glory. Merlin said: “Our loves must soar aloft to spheres divine; The human satisfies nor you nor me,
( No human love shall ever satisfy — Or ever did — the hearts that lean on it ); You sigh for something higher as do I, So let our spirits be espoused in God,
And let our wedlock be as soul to soul; And prayer shall be the golden marriage ring, And God will bless us both.” She sweetly said:
“Your words are echoes of my own soul's thoughts; Let God's own heart be our own holy home And let us live as only angels live; And let us love as our own angels love.
‘ Tis hard to part — but it is better so — God's will is ours, and — Merlin! let us go.” And then she sobbed as if her heart would break — Perhaps it did; an awful minute passed,
Long as an age and briefer than a flash Of lightning in the skies. No word was said — Only a look which never was forgot. Between them fell the shadows of the night.
Their faces went away into the dark, And never met again; and yet their souls Were twined together in the heart of Christ. And Ethel went from earthland long ago;
But Merlin stays still hanging on his cross. He would not move a nail that nails him there, He would not pluck a thorn that crowns him there. He hung himself upon the blessed cross
With Ethel; she has gone to wear the crown That wreathes the brows of virgins who have kept Their bodies with their souls from earthly taint. And years and years, and weary years, passed on
Into the past. One Autumn afternoon, When flowers were in their agony of death, And winds sang “De Profundis” over them, And skies were sad with shadows, he did walk
Where, in a resting place as calm as sweet, The dead were lying down; the Autumn sun Was half way down the west; the hour was three — The holiest hour of all the twenty-four,
For Jesus leaned His head on it, and died. He walked alone amid the virgin's graves Where virgins slept; a convent stood near by, And from the solitary cells of nuns
Unto the cells of death the way was short. Low, simple stones and white watched o'er each grave, While in the hollows‘ tween them sweet flowers grew, Entwining grave and grave. He read the names
Engraven on the stones, and “Rest in peace” Was written‘ neath them all, and o'er each name A cross was graven on the lowly stone. He passed each grave with reverential awe,
As if he passed an altar, where the Host Had left a memory of its sacrifice. And o'er the buried virgins’ virgin dust He walked as prayerfully as tho’ he trod
The holy floor of fair Loretta's shrine. He passed from grave to grave, and read the names Of those whose own pure lips had changed the names By which this world had known them into names
Of sacrifice known only to their God; Veiling their faces they had veiled their names; The very ones who played with them as girls, Had they passed there, would know no more than he
Or any stranger where their playmates slept; And then he wondered all about their lives, their hearts, Their thoughts, their feelings, and their dreams, Their joys and sorrows, and their smiles and tears.
He wondered at the stories that were hid Forever down within those simple graves. In a lone corner of that resting-place Uprose a low white slab that marked a grave
Apart from all the others; long, sad grass Drooped o'er the little mound, and mantled it With veil of purest green; around the slab The whitest of white roses‘ twined their arms —
Roses cold as the snows and pure as songs Of angels — and the pale leaflets and thorns Hid e'en the very name of her who slept Beneath. He walked on to the grave, but when
He reached its side a spell fell on his heart So suddenly — he knew not why — and tears Went up into his eyes and trickled down Upon the grass; he was so strangely moved
As if he met a long-gone face he loved. I believe he prayed. He lifted then the leaves That hid the name; but as he did, the thorns Did pierce his hand, and lo! amazed, he read
The very word — the very, very name He gave the girl in golden days before —
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