The Rejected Suitor

Not often does a sadder sight Wake sympathetic strain, Than glimpse of some rejected wight Whose suit has proved in vain; Who often pinched necessities For bouquets, sweet and rare, For tickets to the carnival, The opera, or fair;

Whose pocket oft was visited The candy box to fill; The dollar spent that should have gone To pay his laundry bill. Especially the case is sad, If he who seeks a wife Has, step by step, encroached upon The shady side of life.

The fly no darker prospect views That in the inkstand peers, Than he, whose unrequited love Must leak away in tears. At such a time how ill the smile Becomes the rival face; The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods, Seem sadly out of place.

And then comparisons are drawn At the expense, no doubt, Of him whose overflowing cup Seems full enough without. While he who moves away, alas! Of every grace so free, To criticism opens wide The door, as all may see.

His mind is not reflecting now On fashions, style, or art, On proper pace, or rules of grace; But on his slighted heart. He now but sees his promised joys All foundering in his view, His castles tumbling down, that high In brighter moments grew.

To know that now those ruby lips Another’s mouth will press, And now that soft and soothing hand Another’s brow caress,— Oh, dark before, and dark behind, And full of woe and pain Is life to him, whose heavy loss Makes up a rival’s gain.

The gravel-walk beneath his feet Cannot too sudden ope’, To gather in the wretch, who mourns The death of every hope. The swallows, whispering in a row, Seem mocking at his tear, And in the cawing of the crow He seems to catch a sneer; The cattle grazing in the field Awhile their lunch delay, To gaze at him, who moves along In such a listless way.

Perhaps he’ll know a thousand griefs Ere death has laid him low. Perhaps, beside an open grave, He’ll shed the tear of woe; Perhaps he’ll turn him from the sods That hide a mother’s face, A father’s smile, a brother’s hand, Or sister’s buried grace; But there can hardly come a time When life will look so drear, Or can so little reason show Why he should linger here.