There Was a Belle Named Marion

Michael Hoggatt

There was a belle named Marion,
A foreigner was she,
And everyone she graced to meet,
Was salted with her glee.
Her diligence in simple toil
was reckoned par to none,
She shone her lamp upon its stand
To shine akin the Sun.
The shining Marion withheld the
Secret of her heart—
Her secret name, the source of flame,
To none she could impart.
She laughed, but it was not her laugh.
She smiled but smiled askance.
She gave a young man company;
Her name was not the dance.
The longing for to share her name,
It bited at her core,
So heaving up her spirit’s sigh,
She stumbled through the door.
An echo knocked upon her heart—
What’s this? Who could it be?
It was a letter sent for her:
To Marion. Signed, me.

And instantly she knew his name,
The spelling of his soul—
The oaths they took were merriment;
Two parts contained the whole.
The wedding mirth made man and wife
Approach the altar mount,
Where crowns descend on both of them,
The two now one account.
There was a belle named Marion,
A faithful lass was she—
Her nuptial name protected her,
Made peace upon the sea.

Michael Hoggatt develops curriculum for Hillsdale College’s K-12 Office as a curriculum
fellow and teaches grade school at Hillsdale Academy. He holds a Master’s degree in
the humanities from Ralston College. He hails from Wisconsin and attended Hillsdale
College for undergraduate studies, majoring in English. He loves reading aloud and
invites his readers to do the same.