Now when the sister found her brother gone, And that, for many days, he came not back, She wept for Sheemah more than for herself; For Love bides longest in a woman's heart, And flutters many times before he flies, And then doth perch so nearly, that a word May lure him back, as swift and glad as light; And Duty lingers even when Love is gone Oft looking out in hope of his return; And, after Duty hath been driven forth, Then Selfishness creeps in the last of all, Warming her lean hands at the lonely hearth, And crouching o'er the embers, to shut out Whatever paltry warmth and light are left, With avaricious greed, from all beside. So, for long months, the sister hunted wide, And cared for little Sheemah tenderly; But, daily more and more, the loneliness Grew wearisome, and to herself she sighed, "Am I not fair? at least the glassy pool, That hath no cause to flatter, tells me so; But, O, how flat and meaningless the tale, Unless it tremble on a lover's tongue! Beauty hath no true glass, except it be In the sweet privacy of loving eyes." Thus deemed she idly, and forgot the lore Which she had learned of nature and the woods, That beauty's chief reward is to itself, And that the eyes of Love reflect alone The inward fairness, which is blurred and lost Unless kept clear and white by Duty's care So she went forth and sought the haunts of men, And, being wedded, in her household cares, Soon, like the elder brother, quite forgot The little Sheemah and her father's charge. But Sheemah, left alone within the lodge, Waited and waited, with a shrinking heart, Thinking each rustle was his sister's step, Till hope grew less and less, and then went out, And every sound was changed from hope to fear. Few sounds there were:--the dropping of a nut, The squirrel's chirrup, and the jay's harsh scream, Autumn's sad remnants of blithe Summer's cheer, Heard at long intervals, seemed but to make The dreadful void of silence silenter. Soon what small store his sister left was gone, And, through the Autumn, he made shift to live On roots and berries, gathered in much fear Of wolves, whose ghastly howl he heard ofttimes, Hollow and hungry, at the dead of night. But Winter came at last, and, when the snow, Thick-heaped for gleaming leagues o'er hill and plain, Spread its unbroken silence over all, Made bold by hunger, he was fain to glean, (More sick at heart than Ruth, and all alone,) After the harvest of the merciless wolf, Grim Boaz, who, sharp-ribbed and gaunt, yet feared A thing more wild and starving than himself; Till, by degrees, the wolf and he grew friends, And shared, together all the winter through.