Alice Ray: A Romance In Rhyme: Canto I
CANTO
I.
ALICE
AT
HOME.
The
birds
their
love-notes
warble
Among
the
blossomed
trees;
The
flowers
are
sighing
forth
their
sweets
To
wooing
honey-bees;-
The
glad
brook
o'er
a
pebbly
floor
Goes
dancing
on
its
way,-
But
not
a
thing
is
so
like
spring
As
happy
Alice
Ray.
An
only
child
was
Alice,
And,
like
the
blest
above,
The
gentle
maid
had
ever
breathed
An
atmosphere
of
love;
Her
father's
smile
like
sunshine
came,
Like
dew
her
mother's
kiss,
Their
love
and
goodness
made
her
home,
Like
heaven,
the
place
of
bliss.
Beneath
such
tender
training,
The
joyous
child
had
sprung
Like
one
bright
flower,
in
wild-wood
bower,
And
gladness
round
her
flung;
And
all
who
met
her
blessed
her,
And
turned
again
to
pray,
That
grief
and
care
might
ever
spare
The
happy
Alice
Ray.
The
gift
that
made
her
charming
Was
not
from
Venus
caught;
Nor
was
it,
Pallas-like,
derived
From
majesty
of
thought;-
Her
healthful
cheek
was
tinged
with
brown,
Her
hair
without
a
curl;
But
then
her
eyes
were
love-lit
stars,
Her
teeth
as
pure
as
pearl.
And
when
in
merry
laughter
Her
sweet,
clear
voice
was
heard,
It
welled
from
out
her
happy
heart
Like
carol
of
a
bird;
And
all
who
heard
were
moved
to
smiles,
As
at
some
mirthful
lay,
And,
to
the
stranger's
look,
replied-
"'Tis
that
dear
Alice
Ray."
And
so
she
came,
like
sunbeams
That
bring
the
April
green;
As
type
of
nature's
royalty,
They
called
her
"Woodburn's
Queen!"
A
sweet,
heart-lifting
cheerfulness,
Like
spring-time
of
the
year,
Seemed
ever
on
her
steps
to
wait,-
No
wonder
she
was
dear.
Yet
though
with
nature
living,
And
little
taught
by
rules,
Her
mind
had
often
grasped
a
truth
Beyond
the
art
of
schools;-
No
Sophist
could
have
moved
her
faith,-
She
knew
her
Bible
true,
And
thrice,
ere
sixteen
springs
she
bloomed,
Had
read
the
good
Book
through.
In
sooth,
books
oft
beguiled
her
From
work
as
well
as
play,
And
in
their
dear
companionship
She
passed
the
live-long
day-
Sweet
Poesy
and
wild
Romance,
Tales
of
the
Wise
and
Good,
Poor
Christian's
weary
Pilgrimage,
And
"Sweetened
Solitude."
And,
with
the
Story-tellers,
What
friendships
had
she
made!
She
pitied
lonely
Crusoe's
lot,
And
loved
Scheherazade,-
But
to
the
Bard
of
Avon
turned
Her
fancy
and
her
heart,
Nor
knew
which
most
in
him
she
loved-
The
nature
or
the
art.
Her
world
was
ever
joyous-
She
thought
of
grief
and
pain
As
giants
in
the
olden
time
That
ne'er
would
come
again;
The
seasons
all
had
charms
for
her;
She
welcomed
each
with
joy,-
The
charm
that
in
her
spirit
lived
No
changes
could
destroy.
Her
heart
was
like
a
fountain,
The
waters
always
sweet,-
Her
pony
in
the
pasture,
The
kitten
at
her
feet,
The
ruffling
bird
of
June,
and
The
wren
in
the
old
wall-
Each
knew
her
loving
carefulness,
And
came
at
her
soft
call.
Her
love
made
all
things
lovely,
For
in
the
heart
must
live
The
feeling
that
imparts
the
charm-
We
gain
by
what
we
give.
She
never
thought
of
ugliness
Unless
with
sin
conjoined,-
How
could
dark
Envy's
shadow
creep
On
such
a
warm,
pure
mind?
And
who
could
dream
the
future
Had
ills
for
her
in
store?
Her
cup
of
life
seemed
filled
from
springs
With
pure
joy
brimming
o'er-
And
Piety,
like
living
plant,
Beside
the
waters
rose,
With
healing
leaves
to
shelter
her
From
every
storm
that
blows.
And
though,
as
years
rolled
onward,
Her
parents
might
be
gone,
Yet
still
the
loving
Alice
Would
never
be
alone.
Was
not
young
Arthur
even
now
For
ever
by
her
side?
They
were
too
young
to
marry
yet,
But
she
would
be
his
bride:
So
thought
the
town
of
Woodburn,
And
all
the
gossips
cried-
"A
noble
Bridegroom
he
will
make!
And
she
a
charming
Bride!"
The
son
of
good
old
Deacon
Gray-
And
vainly
had
you
gone,
To
find
a
youth
like
Arthur,
From
Maine
to
Galveston.
He
won
the
prize
at
college
And
in
the
wrestler's
ring;
Could
shoot
a
squirrel
in
the
eye,
Or
woodcock
on
the
wing;
He
rode
with
grace
and
bearing
high,
Like
Cossack
in
command;
And
his
good
steed
would
gently
feed,
Like
Arab's,
from
his
hand;
And,
when
he
called
his
dog
or
steed,
His
tones
were
ever
bland.
And
he
the
Law
was
reading,
And
all
the
neighbours
said,-
"He'll
make
a
Judge
like
Marshall,
With
such
a
heart
and
head!"
Aunt
Mary
said
the
orphan
Would
find
a
friend
in
him,
For
when
she
told
a
moving
tale,
His
eyes
with
tears
were
dim.
The
brave
are
ever
gentle,
The
good
should
be
the
gay,-
And
Arthur
was
as
bold
of
heart
As
knight
in
tourney
fray,-
His
mind
was
always
firm
for
truth
As
rock
'mid
ocean's
spray;
And,
though
a
restless
daring
will
At
times
he
might
display,
His
wildest
moods
were
calmed
at
once,
But
mention
Alice
Ray.
And
she-though
when
you
talked
of
him,
She
blushed
and
turned
away-
Was
still
his
partner
in
the
dance
And
in
the
dashing
sleigh;
-They
always
searched
together
For
flowers
the
first
of
May;
And
duly
to
the
Sabbath
School
On
every
holy
day
She
went-they
both
were
Teachers
there,-
She
went
with
Arthur
Gray.
Sarah Josepha Hale
Sarah Josepha Hale was born on October 24th, 1788 in Newport, New Hampshire. Her parents were strong advocates for education of both sexes. Therefore, Hale was taught well beyond the normal age for a woman. Later, she married a lawyer David Hale, who supported her in all scholarly endeavors. Sadly, her husband died after only nine years of marriage, leaving Hale a widow with five children. She turned to poetry as a form of income. Her most famous book, titled Poems for Our Children included a beloved story from her childhood. “Mary Had a Little Lamb” was instantly a popular nursey rhyme.