Elizabeth III

Now was the winter gone, and the snow; and Robin the Redbreast,Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no otherThat had covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood, and blithelyAll the birds sang with him, and little cared for his boasting,Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, and onlySang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for the nests they were building.With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth HaddonSang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and songless.Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and music,Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies vernal.

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that slowlyUp the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrimsMen and women, wending their way to the Quarterly MeetingIn the neighboring town; and with them came riding John Estaugh.At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alightingTasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the honeyBrought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall of the garden;Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued their journey,And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah the housemaid.But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaningOver her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh"Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee,Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others;Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth."And they rode slowly along through the woods, conversing together.It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest;It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning!

Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance,As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have guarded:"I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell thee;I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh."

And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the words she had spoken,"Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit;Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate whiteness,Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning.But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me.When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completedHe hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillnessOf my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guidance."

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in spirit,"So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of it further.It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrowThou art going away, across the sea, and I know notWhen I shall see thee more; but if the Lord hath decreed it,Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me."And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others.