University of Virginia Library

At length the storm abates. The furious wind
No longer howls. The lightning faintly gleams,
And the retiring thunder scarce is heard.
The shower ceases, and the glowing sun
Bursts from the cloud, and hangs the wood with pearls
Fast falling to the ground. On the dark cloud
His wat'ry ray impress'd, in brilliant hues
Paints the gay rainbow. All is calm and clear.
The blackbird sings, and nothing of the storm
Is heard, save the grand surge whose heavy fall
Sounds awful though remote, and as it sinks
With harsh concussion rakes the flinty beach.
No longer they delay, but once again
Speed to the shore along the sandy path.
They come, and lo! the rough tormented deep
Boils like a cauldron, like a furnace steams.
Who can escape the fury of such wrath?
A multitude they meet, who one by one
Studiously prowl along the sounding shore,
And glean the foamy weed for hidden wreck.
And all they ask of Gilbert, but in vain:
None saw him, none the fisher or his son.
Mournfully slow they travel the rough beach
With painful steps, lamenting as they go.
Link'd arm in arm went Anna and Maria,
And arm in arm a little mile behind
Walk'd Adriano and Sophia. He
The tender-hearted maid consol'd, and spoke
Of grievous accidents which oft befal
The innocent and good, and yet require
Steady submission and a thankful heart
To him who sends them. Sad Maria too
Gave grief a tongue, and comforted her friend,
Needing relief herself.

And thus they walk'd,
Till to the foot of the steep cliff they came,
And there they saw upon the greensward edge
A little rais'd above them one who stood
His arms infolded, and the roaring waves
With stedfast eye regarded, as they roll'd
In foamy storm against the cliff below.
Glad they approach'd him, and with gentle voice
Anna requested, had he seen a youth
Clad thus and thus, a fisher and his son,
Or a light boat with painted sides and stern.
He heard her not, in admiration lost
At the loud conflict of the waves below;
Till turning short he saw surpris'd a maid,
Whose tearful eye met his, and from whose lips
Fell feeble accents to his ear address'd.
He ask'd her what she would. She pray'd again,
If he had seen a youth—

“Fair maid,” said he,
“I am a stranger on this boist'rous shore,
“And known to none. With yester-morning's sun
“I left my home, and with a tim'rous friend
“Sought these high cliffs and that majestic wood,
“In search of some who in this lonely vale,
“Such the report, seek shelter from the world.
“To-day by noon we reach'd the utmost wood,
“Just as the storm began. My wary friend
“Took refuge at a cottage by the way.
“With him I left my steed, to the white shore
“Determin'd, the wide ocean never seen,
“And fortune promising, to crown my hopes,
“A storm. I came and clomb the cliff, and saw,
“In yonder hovel shelter'd, the wild flood
“In all its fury. With exceeding awe
“Mingled with joy (for nature in my soul
“Put something of the raven, and I love
“Her awful operations) I beheld
“The loud tempestuous waters lifted up
“Proudly terrific, and in foamy pomp
“Roll'd thund'ring to the shore. I felt the cliff
“Shake at their potent onset, while the blast
“Lifted the hovel's roof, and his strong side,
“Though ribb'd with oak, before its fury lean'd.
“I saw the fierce and fiery lightning fall
“And burn along the cliff, e'en at my feet
“Expiring. The resounding thunder seem'd
“As heav'n and earth had war, and each enrag'd
“Its horrid indignation had roar'd out
“Close at my ear. In furious cataract
“The rain descended, as if God was wroth,
“And heav'n its windows once again had op'd
“To drown the world. I saw the rushing shower
“Fall on the milk-white head of yon high cliff,
“And steam along the down and o'er the wood,
“And ever as the stormy blast blew strong,
“And the keen lightning shot, it seem'd to fall
“In sheets of fire. Methought the batter'd earth
“Rock'd to and fro, as with a palsy shook,
“Prophetic of her end. And then I saw,
“Scarce saw upon the bounding waves below
“(Sad sight, and such as fill'd my soul with grief
“And terror inexpressible) a ship,
“Full of brave sailors, in extreme distress,
“Toss'd on the rocks. Through all the storm I heard,
“Or thought I heard, the lamentable cries
“Of fifty souls in the full bloom of life
“Begging relief in vain. I saw a wave
“Sweep half into the flood. The living half
“Frantic with terror ran from deck to deck,
“With lifted hands and looks imploring mercy.
“Some plung'd into the waves; and one I saw
“Clasp a distracted female in his arms,
“And shield her with a father's love—in vain—
“A larger wave came tumbling o'er the deck,
“And swept it clear. The parent's hold was lost:
“In the wet shrouds I saw his drowning child
“A moment hang, then drop into the waves.
“Some yet remain'd high on the rolling mast
“In dreadful expectation rock'd; but soon
“The welt'ring ship was buried, her high mast
“Fell to the water, and no soul was left.
“Soon as the storm subsided I came down,
“And saw upon the beach the scatter'd wreck
“Of what was once a boat. And, as I stood
“In fix'd amaze surveying the wild surge,
“I saw the roaring deep cast up the corpse
“Of one yet warm with life. E'en at my feet
“The falling water left him, mangled much,
“And much distorted; yet he seem'd a youth
“Of no mean birth, his locks with ribband tied,
“His coat dark blue, his waistcoat neatly wrought,
“Buckles of silver in his shoes, his knees
“Garter'd with silk—”

He said, and to the earth
Sunk Anna spiritless. Sophia too,
Who unperceiv'd came up, and list'ning stood,
And heard the story of the shatter'd boat,
And how the corpse was cloth'd, shed bitter tears,
And wrung her hands, and lift her eyes to heav'n;
Then knelt by Anna, press'd her clay-cold hand,
And rais'd her head, and laid her cheek to her's,
And call'd, and sigh'd. Maria speechless stood,
Pierc'd to the heart. Death o'er her trembling limbs
Spread his pale banner, and the spark of life
Was half extinguish'd. On her father's neck
She fell, and labour'd to conceal her grief
Too mighty to be hid. The good man wept.
The stranger stood aghast. Humane he was,
And shed some few involuntary drops,
Not knowing why, and turn'd about to hide them.
With gentle hand he help'd to raise the maid,
And put the cheering ether to her lip,
And touch'd her temples She reviv'd, and sigh'd,
And having found her feet, and shed a flood
Of pure affection, with a trembling voice,
Oft interrupted, of the stranger ask'd,
“Whither the corpse was carried.” He replied,
“None saw it but myself, and I alone,
“In pity to a stranger thus expos'd
“To hungry sea-birds and the pitiless boor
“Who walks the beach for plunder, rak'd a hole
“Unseen of any, and the shroudless corpse
“Buried in haste; and came away, well pleas'd
“To have done an office that myself had wish'd
“Upon the naked shore so cast.”

“But where,
“Where, Sir,” said Anna, “shall we find the spot
“Where the dear youth lies buried?” “Lovely maid,”
Replied the stranger, “with my own rude hands
“I smooth'd it as I could, t' escape the search
“Of curious plunderers; and scarce had done,
“When a high-lifted surge with monstrous roar
“Burst on the shore, and shot his foamy strength
“Up to the topmost beach. I ran before it,
“And turning could not mark the spot myself
“Where the drown'd youth was laid. Thence up I came,
“And, when you saw me first, with stedfast eye
“Watch'd the approach of something from the wreck,
“Which seem'd another corpse.”

“O mighty God!”
Cried Anna, “then these longing eyes no more
“Shall see our brother, our unhappy Gilbert”
“Gilbert!” exclaim'd the stranger all amaz'd,
“Gilbert! and was it Gilbert whom these hands
“Interr'd? and are the maids I see his sisters?
“I might have known it, for Sophia's voice
“Twice call'd thee Anna, and my conscious heart
“Leap'd at the sound. Come, let me both embrace,
“And be assur'd, the man who thus intrudes
“Is a warm friend, who heartily partakes
“Your grief for Gilbert.”

Silence chain'd his tongue.
He said no more, but, Anna's hand in his,
Turn'd short aside, and to his flowing eyes
Applied the kerchief. In extreme amaze
All stood. There was a pause in grief, and joy
Was ready with a dewy-raptur'd eye
To mingle ecstasy with sorrow. “Yes,
“A warmer friend,” said he, “than greets you thus,
“No mortal knows. My name is Frederick!

“Ha! Frederick! and is it Frederick?
“Mine and my father's Frederick?” exclaim'd
Astonish'd Anna: “by what lucky chance
“In this hard hour do I again embrace
“My faithful Frederick?” She said, and sprung
And caught him in her arms, and on his neck
Breath'd out in tears unutterable joy,
Unutterable grief.

“Thy Frederick,
“Thy faithful Frederick, and only thine,”
Said he, “is he who holds thee. To this vale
“I came in quest of thee, doubly rejoic'd
“To bear good news to Gilbert, and to thee
“A heart unchang'd. I mounted not the cliff,
“Till I had sought in vain the humble cot
“Where fame reported Gilbert was conceal'd.
“Years have elaps'd since at a friend's retreat
“I met thee, Anna, lov'd thee, and was lov'd.
“Our fathers saw the strong attachment made,
“And thought it best to separate our hands
“Till age had taught us prudence, and our love,
“Of childish passion clear, to pure esteem
“And rational regard had mellow'd down.
“Yet am I childish still, and in my soul
“Perceive no alter'd love, no warmth abated.
“First in my mind is Anna when I wake,
“Last ere I sleep. She is my thought all day,
“My constant dream all night.”

“O Frederick,
“And canst thou,” said she, “to a maid so lost
“Be true and faithful? Canst thou love me still,
“All destitute of friends, no father left,
“No brother to defend me? Canst thou grieve
“To see these tears? And shall the same kind roof
“Receive Sophia and my wretched self,
“Never to part? Take then my hand, and Heav'n
“Mix no repentance in thy cup.”

“Dear soul,
“Can I?” said he; “inhuman were my heart,
“Could I not love thee in the perilous hour,
“As much or more than in the cloudless day
“Of gay prosperity. Be thine my roof,
“And thine, Sophia. All my purse can give
“Shall purchase happiness for you and me.
“Come, let us hasten homeward. By the way
“I'll give you short account of better lot
“Now intercepted, and to-morrow's fun
“Shall launch us on the world to live anew.”

“Stay, gentle stranger,” Adriano cried,
Who silently had stood and mark'd his words,
And joy'd and griev'd; “a little moment stay.
“Be not too hasty to deprive my child
“Of these her amiable only friends,
“Nor pluck from me my second best support
“Of age and weakness. Be till night at least
“My guests, and end the melancholy day,
“Begun with joy, in my poor shelter'd cot.
“To leave me thus would be a loss indeed.
“'Twould break my poor child's heart.”

The stranger turn'd,
And bow'd obedience, by the tender fair
With ease persuaded, in his heart inclin'd
To meet the good petition with consent.
So silently they went, and Fred'rick told
The purpose of his journey. Joyful news
He thought to bring to Gilbert and his house.
But Providence, who ev'ry ill removes,
And gives us only good, by sudden change
Had otherwise ordain'd, and what he wills
Is best for man. A rich relation died,
And left to Gilbert a complete estate.
But if he died and left no child behind,
It went to Ronsart, an unmanner'd youth,
Bred at his mother's knee, the very man
Who came with Fred'rick to the lonely wood.
Unwelcome was the news, and ev'ry heart
Throbb'd with the transports of augmented grief.
Sweet comfort fled, and Fred'rick strove in vain
To stay the course of unavailing tears.
So home they came, in silent sorrow sat,
Bread of affliction ate, and drank the cup
No longer sweet, unmingled with content.

O Grief, thou blessing and thou curse, how fair,
How charming art thou, sitting thus in state
Upon the eyelid of ingenuous youth,
Wat'ring the roses of a healthful cheek
With dews of silver! O for Lely's art,
To touch the canvass with a tender hand,
And give a faithful portrait of thy charms,
Seen through the veil of grief, sweet maid, Sophia.
O for the pen of Milton, to describe
Thy winning sadness, thy subduing sigh,
Gentle Maria; to describe thy pains,
Assiduous Fred'rick, to alleviate grief,
And hang a smile upon thy Anna's brow;
To paint the sweet composure of thy looks,
Experienc'd Adriano, thy attempt
To waken cheerfulness, and frequent eye
Stealing aside in pity to Maria.
“Be comforted,” he said, and in the sound
Was music ev'ry ear was pleas'd to hear.
But thy availing voice was not like his,
Who bade the deep be still, and it obey'd.
A transient gleam of peace one moment shone,
But sorrow came the next.

Short time they sat,
For Fred'rick now bethinks him of his friend,
And begs the good man's leave to be excus'd
Till early eve, or till he finds at least
The roving Ronsart. Well he knew, the youth
Was fiery and impatient, and perhaps
Might combat danger thus alone, unus'd
To win regard by gentle courtesy,
In words precipitate and harsh, in deeds
Rude and despotic. To partake his walk
Anna requested, and he gave consent;
Well knowing love has many tales to tell
Fit only for the ear of him who loves.
So forth they walk'd, and to his weeping child
The careful father went. He drew a seat,
And sat between Maria and her friend.
One hand of each he took, and bade them cease
And shed no bitter tears for Gilbert's death,
For death was happy. 'Twas a kind reprieve
To a sad exile, freedom to a slave,
Wealth to a beggar. 'Twas a private door
Open'd by Mercy to let in her son,
The poor, unhappy, cheated pilgrim, Man,
Into the land of rest: that happy land,
Once his, but lost, o'er whose fast-bolted gate
Insulted Justice waves her fiery sword,
And swears no soul shall enter. Yet there was
One entrance left, left by that gracious God,
Who made the heav'ns and this revolving earth,
Who spake, and it was done. He gave the key
To Mercy, Mercy was for man.

But words
Were not sufficient to remove their grief.
He paus'd—he pitied. Gen'rous sympathy
Thrill'd in his heart, and mounted to his eyes.
He took his hat, and left them with a sigh.

Nor sit they long. Each takes a book by chance,
Not purposing to read, but steal away
And feed the sorrows of her heart alone.