 | Denzil place |  |
To church together on the Sabbath morn
Constance and Roland used to wend their way,
All thro' the deeply-rutted Sussex lanes,
And o'er the fields, whilst on his sturdy cob,
Sir John would jog along the highway road.
In Constance had been born a passionate love
Of Nature, all that was not made by man
Seem'd sacred, beautiful, and good to see.
Thus, tho' a Christian, in her gentle breast
Some unsuspected germ of Pantheism
Lay dormant; much the easiest gate to Heav'n
Seem'd to be thro' the lovely works of God—
The flow'rs—the trees; she often felt in church
How good it would have been to worship there
Amongst the oaks, as once the Druids did,
With nothing roofing off the blue of Heav'n,
And nothing interfering to distract
The heart from God! Here, in the mouldy church,
So many sights arrested her young mind,
Seeming to drag it back again to earth,
And oftentimes she rais'd her timid eyes
To see the neighbours enter, one by one.
“And who is that?” or “Why is she in black?”
“Oh, yes, I know, the son who was at school!”
“She is in mourning for his grandmother;
“And that's the Captain, who is going to wed
“With Helen.” Often worldly thoughts like these
Constance would try to check, but still they came;
Then there were sadder thoughts,—above the pew
The mildew'd hatchments of her husband's race
Hung in a gloomy row upon the wall,
The one that hung over the entrance hall
The year that little Roland's mother died,
Eight years ago, when she was only twelve,
(Roland was eight years old,) she saw it then
And ask'd her maid the reason it was there,
That painted piebald sign-board, and half thought
That Farleigh Court had turn'd into an inn.
“Some day,” poor Constance thought, “I too must die
“And lie forgotten, nothing will be left
“To make these simple peasants think of me
“Save some such dismal diamond on the wall
“Of this old church! My side will be in black
“With three poor greyhounds madly rushing on,
“Ah, rushing whither? But Death comes to all
“And Life is very often very sad!”
Constance and Roland used to wend their way,
All thro' the deeply-rutted Sussex lanes,
And o'er the fields, whilst on his sturdy cob,
Sir John would jog along the highway road.
In Constance had been born a passionate love
14
Seem'd sacred, beautiful, and good to see.
Thus, tho' a Christian, in her gentle breast
Some unsuspected germ of Pantheism
Lay dormant; much the easiest gate to Heav'n
Seem'd to be thro' the lovely works of God—
The flow'rs—the trees; she often felt in church
How good it would have been to worship there
Amongst the oaks, as once the Druids did,
With nothing roofing off the blue of Heav'n,
And nothing interfering to distract
The heart from God! Here, in the mouldy church,
So many sights arrested her young mind,
Seeming to drag it back again to earth,
And oftentimes she rais'd her timid eyes
To see the neighbours enter, one by one.
“And who is that?” or “Why is she in black?”
“Oh, yes, I know, the son who was at school!”
“She is in mourning for his grandmother;
“And that's the Captain, who is going to wed
“With Helen.” Often worldly thoughts like these
Constance would try to check, but still they came;
Then there were sadder thoughts,—above the pew
The mildew'd hatchments of her husband's race
15
The one that hung over the entrance hall
The year that little Roland's mother died,
Eight years ago, when she was only twelve,
(Roland was eight years old,) she saw it then
And ask'd her maid the reason it was there,
That painted piebald sign-board, and half thought
That Farleigh Court had turn'd into an inn.
“Some day,” poor Constance thought, “I too must die
“And lie forgotten, nothing will be left
“To make these simple peasants think of me
“Save some such dismal diamond on the wall
“Of this old church! My side will be in black
“With three poor greyhounds madly rushing on,
“Ah, rushing whither? But Death comes to all
“And Life is very often very sad!”
| Denzil place | |