Read Ebook: Plet: A Christmas Tale of the Wasatch by Lambourne Alfred

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Ebook has 70 lines and 14586 words, and 2 pages

Too dreadful was the time between the day I reached the camp and he was laid away. Yes, I have lived through saddened hours and dark, Known trials that on life have left their mark; I've my own share of keenest anguish seen, For all too soon my life had failure been; I knew what 'twas to miss the hoped-for goal, And feel the iron enter in my soul; Yet only then I saw all hope depart, To come no more when Jo received death's dart; And still more black became the gloom profound, Between that hour and the burial ground.

Her father told her--how I do not know. When I told him, he reeled as from a blow; I did not dare to go and look on her, Of tidings evil I the messenger. Yet later in her sorrow I could share When in the dusk we took Jo's body there.

Nor was there lack of kindly effort made To ease the grief on her so heavy laid. All in the camp had hunger in their heart To her some grain of comfort to impart; But such her feeling that they must forego, And leave her silent in her utter woe.

And after that all is to me quite vague, My memory seemed smitten by a plague; A strange uncertainty did all confuse, Things and events I saw through changing hues. My merry Plet, sweet as the sun shone on, I saw like a cut flower all droop and wan, Or one that's stricken by a cruel frost, Or like a weary bird, that's tempest-tossed. She who had been so lively and so gay Changed to a spirit that might pass away. How soon the dawn of love so rosy bright Had given place to dark and solemn night! Her only wish now seemed to be alone, To listen for a word in that loved tone-- Yes, she who longed to meet the future years, Now backward looked and through a mist of tears.

And doubt and fear obscure oppressed my brain, My mind was clouded by a nameless pain, And o'er and o'er again came this dark thought, She too must go--she but a long rest sought; On other paths than ours she soon must wend, Her broken heart foreshadowed but this end.

Her father wished to take her from the place, But Plet begged hard for little time of grace. He to remove her from those scenes was fain, She to look on them still would there remain. How could she go and leave that new-made grave, When, to be near, her only comfort gave? Ah, all unlike is woman to the man! And yet we know 'tis to some noble plan-- Man in his strength, the past lets go its way, Though thus forever some great hope decay! But woman, loving, tender, still clings fast, And hopeless yearns until the very last; Keeps sacred in her heart and holds supreme Whate'er remains of her sweet broken dream.

And so that grave held Plet with unseen power. Was there some influence at their natal hour? Oh, yes, to me the sequel seemed to show That they were linked indeed for weal or woe!

And so there came again a summer day, With Plet and father climbing up the way. What madness filled his brain to let her come? The very sight with anguish struck me dumb. I knew she struggled with her love in vain, 'Twas hopelessness that brought her once again. The same wild flowers were growing by the lake, As when she first came for my poor Jo's sake. Can the eyes speak farewell? Oh! if they can, How simple was the key to her sad plan. She only came with her dead hope to part, To be where love had entered in her heart!

And now there came that looked-for scene and last, To which that other seemed but a forecast; Once more the great white flakes were falling slow, To wrap in fleecy folds the earth below. A year with all its changes had gone round Since Jo was buried in that mountain ground, The third of that glad season since they met, And now I saw the grave close over Plet.

For he had promised--kept the promise true, Nor death nor circumstance should part those two. And now that vow the stricken father made, We with bowed heads in silence saw obeyed. Her happiness had been his own, and why Should he her last and fondest wish deny? And that last wish had almost been a prayer, That she might lie beside her lover there.

The Christmas Eve--it weighed upon my heart, It seemed the hot tears from my eyes must start; In anguish o'er my brow I passed my hand, Life seemed no surer than a rope of sand: The Christmas Eve with dire importance fraught, Plet and her father 'neath the wild snows caught; The Christmas Eve and Jo swept to his death, Upon the jagged rocks to yield his breath, And Christmas Eve again, and Plet asleep, Where on the flat the snow lay cold and deep. The Christmas Eve, I whispered o'er and o'er, While echoes seemed to come from a far shore. Oh, why so fateful to them was that night-- Why did it always bring so sad a plight? I tried an answer to my words to frame-- But no solution to the question came; I choking struggled with the hopeless task, And life for death did only seem a mask; I felt all hope was but sad pretence when Their voices I should never hear again!

FINALE.

All stuff and nonsense! Never hear them? What! Their voices hear no more? Believe it not! How! Voice of Jo or Plet not hear again? Indeed! Pray whose voice was I hearing then? Whose voice was that--bright, joyous, full and clear-- A voice that rang with every note of cheer! Whose voice, indeed, if not the voice of Jo?-- And you'll concede I was the one to know. My dear boy's voice as lusty as of old,-- Oh, no, he was not 'neath the graveyard mold! His voice I heard proclaim it was the morn, The sun was shining and the storm outworn-- And then, ere I could drink my happy cup, Cut my thoughts short with orders to "get up!"

So all those things so dreadful were not true-- 'Twas but a nightmare I had just passed through: It was not fact our cabin had been struck, No end so sad had come to mar our luck! All false those hours upon the mountain side; Jo's body down the slopes I did not guide; He was not dead, nor Plet! It did but seem; All a mistake, then, nothing but a dream!

Thank God it was so! That the heaped-up snow Ourselves and cabin had not hurled below, That there was One of Mercy that did spare, Although ourselves had entered in the snare! Thank Heaven, again, 'twas but Jo's mournful word, To tragedy in my weak head transferred!

You know what governs in a Christmas Tale-- That joyfully to end it must not fail,-- So as this life page I was telling you, Such end of course I always kept in view. To take the actual from the false apart, You see it really needs but little art-- Such rights as others take, I did but claim, If I have pleased you, then I've gained my aim.

Oh, all unlike our trip upon the slope, To that one of my dream bereft of hope! The wintry sun had driven back the night, All glistening lay the snow beneath his light. As we sped downwards in unbounded zeal Our snow-shoes sent the spray from off our heel, The mountain hare, behind some bank cowered low, We sent in scurry wild across the snow. You never then had truly guessed my years, That I was mad with gladness plain appears! Jo's hot young blood in me seemed to have place, And merrily with him I kept the race. To see them stand together, O, what joy-- Plet all in smiles beside my darling boy; To hear the music of her gentle voice Made every fiber in my heart rejoice. They looked like pair upon some antique vase, My Jo all strength, and she all sweetest grace. And when I thought, instead of grave and shroud, It was the bridal feast, I laughed aloud!

And what a feast it was, too, when it came; In that high camp you'll find it still has fame! From lonely spots the guests came far and wide, And Plet, indeed, was lovely as a bride. You'll guess, of course, as best man I stood there, And heard "Good Wishes" heaped upon the pair. For that flushed look of pride who could blame Jo-- As on Plet's lips he did the kiss bestow? I think we might as well own up as not-- That single life is but a dreary lot! I'll bother you no more about our claim, Or what the mine itself in time became-- The miner often will too much expect, Yet our first guess was far below correct. 'Tis business here has caused me to sojourn Until the pair from wedding trip return. Of course they make their home in that same west That gave Jo wealth and brought a love the best; And I?--Yes, I am for the mountains, too; Strange how their magic will a man pursue! Yes, they will follow whereso'er you go, As they who love them once will always know. Another word,--to tell you all complete-- I feel again an itching in my feet; "The Miner's Fever!" Give it once a hold, It comes to stay, and burns in young and old:

Shall I go to the Wasatch?--Why, of course! To keep away requires the greater force. And yet "Our Home" I almost dread to see-- Where metal's found there comes a stern decree-- The varied beauties of the mountain wild To serve our greed are for the time defiled; Each sturdy worker smites and cannot spare, He follows law and makes deep havoc there.

And in the mining camp each blast I hear, But echoes of those others will appear-- Those that above the snowy heights were borne, To celebrate the happy Christmas Morn, Those blasts by which his joy the miner tells, And which we used in lieu of Wedding Bells!

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