The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince :: :: University of Virginia Library

In a dim court, shut inward from a street,
Where lounging Vice and toiling Misery meet;
Where squalid forms and cunning faces stray
Idly about, the live-long summer day,
Creeping to crime as wanes the evening light,
Till brawl and revel rouse the middle night;—
A fair girl stands, amid a babbling crowd
Of shameless women, reckless, rude, and loud,
Whose tongues run riot on some evil theme,
Whose restless eyes with wanton passions gleam,—
Whose mien and manner shock the modest mind,—
Whose very words profane the passing wind,
And tell how fallen from virtue and from grace
Are they, poor outcasts of an erring race!
I watch the Maid, and in her pensive eyes
Read thoughts that thrill me with a sad surmise;
I see her quake with sorrow or regret,
I see her cheek with recent weeping wet;
The hues of health and innocence appear
Fresh on her youthful face—What doth she here?

In raiment seemly, and in aspect mild,
A Stranger comes, to cheer the drooping child;
Scatters the crowd, and, taught to teach and feel,
Questions the damsel with a kindly zeal;

To which she answers, with an artless truth
That adds a charm to her unguarded youth:—

“Believe me, Stranger, though my steps have strayed,
I am not lost, yet wildered and dismayed.
Three days ago I left our cottage door,
My once sweet home—a home for me no more!—
Because since Death's inevitable hand
Beckoned my mother to the better land,
My father, once our pattern and our pride,
Has turned from peaceful rectitude aside,
And a dread shadow sits upon his soul,—
The frantic spirit of the baneful bowl.
His lips, whereon hung moving words and mild,
Are now with curses and the cup defiled;
His eyes, once eloquent with gentlest fire,
Burn with the craving of a low desire;
His heart, erewhile with worthiest feelings glad,
Is warped and withered, turbulent or sad,
And that small homestead where my sisters grew,
Like flowers entwining,—where my brothers, too,
Gamboled together, 'neath a mother's gaze
Of sweet solicitude, of silent praise,—
That little spot has now become the lair
Of guilt and grief, disorder and despair,—
Of waste and want, of solitude or din,—
Remorse and tears, and still-recurrent sin.

“Pain-worn at length, grown weary of the strife,
The taint, the torment of this later life,
Forlorn I came to this tumultuous town,
Through its vast mazes wandered up and down,
In the vain quest of refuge, labour, bread,
Or meanest pillow for my aching head;

Till here I stumbled upon dangerous ground,
Verge of a gulf appalling and profound!
Last night, entoiled within that squalid den,
'Mong wanton women, and lascivious men,
I passed in fear the laggard hours away,
And looked with longing for the dawn of day.
With lavish care, and words in kindly guise,
With glowing lures, with rainbow-coloured lies,
They strove to make me that lost thing whose name
Is linked with sorrow, turpitude, and shame;
And hopeless, helpless, friendless, and alone,
My courage flying, and my quiet flown,
No warning voice, no shield or shelter near,
I might have fallen—but God has sent you here!”—

“His be the praise!” the pitying Stranger cried;—
Be He thy Stay, thy Counsellor, thy Guide1
I, a poor servant of His sovereign will,
Would help to snatch thee from impending ill,—
Would rescue from disaster and disgrace,
The fearful chances of this dangerous place.”

“Thanks, from my heart!” exclaimed the grateful Maid,
While the quick joy o'er all her features played;
“Those gentle precepts which my mother taught,
For the clear guidance of each dawning thought,
And the blest quiet of those Sabbath days
Which tuned my soul to peace, my tongue to praise,
Brood in my memory; and I would not scare—
Would Heaven permit—the bright things nestling there.
Give me a lowly home, apart from strife,
'Mid the sweet elements of blameless life,—
Bread for my labour, knowledge for my pains,
Cheerful religion—'bove all earthly gains,

A faith in all the wondrous Word reveals,
A power to soothe when misery appeals,
And I will go where good men's feet have trod,
Honour the giver, and adore my God!”

“Come,” said the Stranger, whose consoling eye
Beamed with the triumph of humanity;
“Come, I will lead thee unto hearts that glow
With pure compassion for all human woe;
Who strive with sin, and long to make it less,
Who yearn to teach, to succour, and to bless:
There, if thy better genius rule the while,
And God vouchsafe the favour of His smile,
Thou mayest expand in goodliness and grace,
Peace in thy heart, and pleasure in thy face;
And so look back to this remembered day
As a new portal to the better way.”

True to her nature, unto virtue true,
Begirt with guardian friends, the Maiden grew,—
Grew into glorious womanhood, a thing
That seemed o'ershadowed by an angel's wing.
Not for herself, her labours and her love,
Nor the deep prayer-thoughts hourly winged above,—
Not for herself alone, but human kind,
And the dear home-ties she had left behind.
Refined in speech, in mental vigour strong,
Tender and quiet, bashful in the throng,
In spirit pure, in moral purpose high,
With all her feelings mirrored in her eye,
Growing in goodness as she grew in grace,
Again she sought the old familiar place,—
Stepped o'er the threshold like a shape of light,
Her bosom bounding, and her aspect bright;

Flew to the parent-breast, so long estranged,
While her quick glance around the dwelling ranged;
With words bedipt in Truth's celestial fire
Appealed, nor vainly, to the man, the sire;
Bound him anew beneath Love's pure control,
Drove out the demon from his sinking soul;
Until, his eyes with free tears gushing o'er,
He kissed her cheek, and vowed to sin no more!

Thus, a kind word with a resistless charm
Drew a poor woman from impending harm;
Thus a good deed, so promptly, wisely done,
Back unto peace an erring mortal won.
The law of kindness hath a noble sway,
Which hardest hearts instinctively obey:
Let us enforce the gentle, genial power,
And so snatch pleasure from each passing hour!