*The Lupins*
'T was a day in late November,
When the fruits were gathered in;
Day to dream in, and remember
All the beauty that had been.
Peacefully the year was dying;
Soft the air, and deep the blue;
Brown and bare the fields were lying,
Where the summer harvest grew.
Autumn flowers had bloomed and seeded;
Yet a few of humblest kind,
Waiting till they most were needed,
Brought the pleasant days to mind.
Here and there a red-tipped daisy
Still its small bright face would show;
While above the distance hazy
Rose the mountains, white with snow.
With a light subdued and tender,
Shone the sun on vale and hill,
Where the faded autumn splendour
Left a sober sweetness still.
By a road that wandered, winding,
Far among the hills away,
Walked a man, despondent, finding
Little comfort in the day.
Pale of tint and fine of feature,
Formed with less of strength than grace,
Seldom went a sadder creature,
Seeking work from place to place.
He from noble race descended,
Heir to wealth and honoured name,
Who had oft the poor befriended
When about his door they came,
By a brother's evil doing
Had to poverty been brought:
Now his listless way pursuing,
Ever on the past he thought.
He, to hope no longer clinging,
Drifted, led he knew not where,
By a sound of far-off singing
Floating in the dreamy air,—
Many voices sweetly blending,
Sounding o'er the hills remote,
Every verse the same, and ending
In one plaintive, long-drawn note.
"Olive gatherers, I know them,
Singing songs from tree to tree;
If the road will lead me to them,
There are food and work for me."
He a humble meal was making,
While he warmed him in the sun;
From his pocket slowly taking
Yellow lupins, one by one.
Most forlorn he felt and lonely,
While he ate them on the way;
For those lupins, and they only,
Were his food for all the day.
Since to shame his brother brought him,
Want had often pressed him sore;
Yet misfortune never brought him
Quite so low as this before!
"If my lot be hard and painful,
There 's one comfort still for me;"
(Said he, with a smile disdainful,)
"Poorer, I can never be.
"There's no lower step to stand on,
No more burning shame to feel:
Not a crust to lay my hand on,
Only lupins for a meal!"
He could see the laden table
Where his parents used to dine:
Well for them who were not able
Then the future to divine.
Oh, but he was glad God took them
Ere they saw him fall so low:
How their cherished hope forsook them,
They had never lived to know.
"I, so dearly loved and cared for,
I, on whom such hopes were built,
Whom such blessings were prepared for—
Ruined by a brother's guilt!"
Now he wrung his hands despairing,
Stamped his foot upon the ground;
Bitter thoughts his heart were tearing,—
When he heard a footstep sound.
Then he started, sobered quickly,
Took an attitude sedate,
With that terror, faint and sickly,
Which he often felt of late.
What if some old friend should find him?
But he turned, the story tells,
And he saw a man behind him,
Picking up the lupin shells;
Picking up the shells and eating
What the other cast away.
Now abashed, their eyes were meeting:
'T was a beggar, worn and gray,
Hollow-eyed and thin and wasted;
By his look you might suppose,
He had ne'er a morsel tasted
Since the sun that morning rose.
Stood the younger man astonished,
And no more bewailed his fate;
Only bowed his head, admonished
By the sight of want so great.
Then he said: "Come here, my brother,
And the lupins we will share;
Maybe, if we help each other,
God will have us in His care."
"Thank the Lord! and you, kind master!
May He help you in your need;
Save your soul from all disaster
And remember your good deed!"
Said the beggar, smiling brightly.
And the other thus replied,—
Now content, and walking lightly
By his poorer neighbour's side,—
"Friend, you have a blessing brought me.
And I thank you in my turn,
For a lesson you have taught me
Which I needed much to learn.
"And henceforth will I endeavour
Not to pine for fortune high,
But remember there is ever
Some one lower down than I.
"But alas, when I was younger,
Wealth and honoured state were mine;
Shame, my friend, is worse than hunger:
'T is for this that I repine."
Then the beggar rose up stately,
Looked the other in the face,
Saying (for he wondered greatly),
"Poverty is no disgrace;
"For our Lord, I think, was poorer
Once than you or even I,
And His poor of Heaven are surer
Than the rich who pass them by."
So the two went on together,
Casting on the Lord their care,
Happy in the balmy weather,
Happy in their simple fare.
Now an ancient olive o'er them
Threw its slender lines of shade,
Bending low its boughs before them,
Silver-leafed that cannot fade;
Bearing fruit in winter season,
Still through every change the same:
Tree of peace—they had good reason
Who have called it by that name!
And with that the story leaves them;
You can end it as you please:
Gain that cheers, or loss that grieves them,
Life of toil, or life of ease.
Did some fortune unexpected
Give to one his wealth again?
Or did both, forlorn, neglected,
End their days in want and pain?
Many years have they been dwelling
Where such trifles of the way
Are not counted worth the telling!
Both are with the Lord to-day.
He in whom their souls confided
Did for both a home prepare;
Yet that humble meal divided
Gives a blessing even there.