Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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STANZAS AT THE STATION.
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322
STANZAS AT THE STATION.
Long time in the refreshment-room I stay'd
Resign'd, expecting the North-Western train,
By some mischance beyond its time delay'd;
The day was drizzly, and continuous rain
By turns abated and increased again;
Throng'd was the platform with impatient folk
Fretting like souls in purgatorial pain,
As sinners will, at what might saints provoke,—
For sure to wait so long was something past a joke.
Resign'd, expecting the North-Western train,
By some mischance beyond its time delay'd;
The day was drizzly, and continuous rain
By turns abated and increased again;
Throng'd was the platform with impatient folk
Fretting like souls in purgatorial pain,
As sinners will, at what might saints provoke,—
For sure to wait so long was something past a joke.
But among all, one party fix'd my eye,—
Three of one household, as a babe might guess;—
A grey-hair'd man, whose summer had gone by,
A lady middle-aged, whose air and dress
Became her ripe and mellow loveliness;
Both these by turns a sprightly girl of three
From time to time did playfully caress,
Or, wild with spirits, bound from knee to knee,—
A fine and healthful child as you on earth might see.
Three of one household, as a babe might guess;—
A grey-hair'd man, whose summer had gone by,
A lady middle-aged, whose air and dress
Became her ripe and mellow loveliness;
Both these by turns a sprightly girl of three
From time to time did playfully caress,
Or, wild with spirits, bound from knee to knee,—
A fine and healthful child as you on earth might see.
The father and the husband (such I ween
That stranger was, although indeed the pair
Might, from the ripeness of their age, have been
The parents' parents of that fairy fair)
Seem'd one who communed with some secret care,
So absent and abstracted was his look,—
And ever and anon he left his chair,
Closing the unread pages of his book,
And through or round the room some restless paces took.
That stranger was, although indeed the pair
Might, from the ripeness of their age, have been
The parents' parents of that fairy fair)
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So absent and abstracted was his look,—
And ever and anon he left his chair,
Closing the unread pages of his book,
And through or round the room some restless paces took.
And then, as though awaking from a dream,
He stopp'd, and, seated by the lady's side,
Gazed on her—ne'er did eyes more fondly beam
Of youthful bridegroom upon youthful bride,
While she look'd up serenely, languid-eyed,
Yet smiling, even like one who would conceal
Some anxious thought, suppress'd with matron pride,
Or which to him she dreaded to reveal,
Lest he, her trouble known, a deeper still might feel.
He stopp'd, and, seated by the lady's side,
Gazed on her—ne'er did eyes more fondly beam
Of youthful bridegroom upon youthful bride,
While she look'd up serenely, languid-eyed,
Yet smiling, even like one who would conceal
Some anxious thought, suppress'd with matron pride,
Or which to him she dreaded to reveal,
Lest he, her trouble known, a deeper still might feel.
Meanwhile her fingers wrought, with busy haste,
A curious web of network light and fine;—
Some masterpiece of female skill and taste,
Which with correct precision to define—
Is not for muse so ignorant as mine;
But she there-through her glowing needle drove
In many a labyrinthine twist and twine,
As though in woman's earnest speed she strove
To finish some choice gift of woman's dearest love.
A curious web of network light and fine;—
Some masterpiece of female skill and taste,
Which with correct precision to define—
Is not for muse so ignorant as mine;
But she there-through her glowing needle drove
In many a labyrinthine twist and twine,
As though in woman's earnest speed she strove
To finish some choice gift of woman's dearest love.
Her looks, her work, the paleness of her cheek,
Her husband's restless step and eye of gloom
Suffused with love, to me appeared to speak
Of some unknown, inexorable doom
Threatening the parent's age, the daughter's bloom;
'Tis plain, thought I,—some emigrant is he,
Who goes, his life's poor remnant to consume
In distant climes, no more for years to see
His wife's heart-thrilling glance, his child's heart-cheering glee.
Her husband's restless step and eye of gloom
Suffused with love, to me appeared to speak
Of some unknown, inexorable doom
Threatening the parent's age, the daughter's bloom;
'Tis plain, thought I,—some emigrant is he,
Who goes, his life's poor remnant to consume
In distant climes, no more for years to see
His wife's heart-thrilling glance, his child's heart-cheering glee.
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And that choice handiwork of hers, no doubt,
Is for a keepsake of connubial love,
Which he shall cherish while his life wears out,
Or till, in this world or the world above,
He may rejoin his lost domestic dove.—
Thus did I muse in speculative vein,—
But, while her flimsy mesh-work fancy wove,
The railway-bell announced the coming train,
And straight the lady rose, like one who moved with pain.
Is for a keepsake of connubial love,
Which he shall cherish while his life wears out,
Or till, in this world or the world above,
He may rejoin his lost domestic dove.—
Thus did I muse in speculative vein,—
But, while her flimsy mesh-work fancy wove,
The railway-bell announced the coming train,
And straight the lady rose, like one who moved with pain.
She walk'd, supported on her husband's arm,
And then by chance the cloak was drawn aside,
Which had before enwrapt her close and warm,—
Whereat I noted, too observant-eyed,
What did the question of my thought decide;—
At once I saw the cause of all the fears
By which the husband's restless heart was torn,
Which filled the mother's eyes with natural tears,
Not, haply, wont to flow in life's more vigorous years.
And then by chance the cloak was drawn aside,
Which had before enwrapt her close and warm,—
Whereat I noted, too observant-eyed,
What did the question of my thought decide;—
At once I saw the cause of all the fears
By which the husband's restless heart was torn,
Which filled the mother's eyes with natural tears,
Not, haply, wont to flow in life's more vigorous years.
So, in Wordsworthian humour, I began
Straightway to frame and fancy in my mind
The thoughts which might have stirr'd that grey-hair'd man,
As one of common passions with his kind;—
Thoughts which the curious here set down may find
In phrase whereby I deem'd he might express,
To her whose life was with his own entwined,
What 'twas that wrought his spirit that distress,
And fill'd his gazing eyes with such sad tenderness.
Straightway to frame and fancy in my mind
The thoughts which might have stirr'd that grey-hair'd man,
As one of common passions with his kind;—
Thoughts which the curious here set down may find
In phrase whereby I deem'd he might express,
To her whose life was with his own entwined,
What 'twas that wrought his spirit that distress,
And fill'd his gazing eyes with such sad tenderness.
“Once again hath sickness bound thee
With its sharp, corroding chain,
Anxious fears once more surround thee,
Wakeful nights and days of pain:
And the months roll onward slowly,
While thy burden heavier grows;
What shall charm thy melancholy?
What shall give thy heart repose?
With its sharp, corroding chain,
Anxious fears once more surround thee,
Wakeful nights and days of pain:
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While thy burden heavier grows;
What shall charm thy melancholy?
What shall give thy heart repose?
“He who else were bound to render—
What to render were delight—
Ministrations kind and tender
To thy weakness day and night,
When the East with sunrise burneth
To his labour must be gone,—
Seldom to thy side returneth
Till the evening star hath shone.
What to render were delight—
Ministrations kind and tender
To thy weakness day and night,
When the East with sunrise burneth
To his labour must be gone,—
Seldom to thy side returneth
Till the evening star hath shone.
“Many a task of household duty
Wearily must thou pursue,
Chiefly cheer'd by childhood's beauty,
And its spirit fond and true:
Firm of heart and much enduring,
Though in weakness and unrest,
Still thy courage re-assuring
With the thoughts which nerve it best.
Wearily must thou pursue,
Chiefly cheer'd by childhood's beauty,
And its spirit fond and true:
Firm of heart and much enduring,
Though in weakness and unrest,
Still thy courage re-assuring
With the thoughts which nerve it best.
“Think how oft in years departed
Thou the self-same chain hast worn,
Feeble, fainting, anxious-hearted,
Till to earth a child was born:
Think what high protection nerved thee
Through thy peril and thy pain;
Think how strong an arm preserved thee,—
Will it not preserve again?
Thou the self-same chain hast worn,
Feeble, fainting, anxious-hearted,
Till to earth a child was born:
Think what high protection nerved thee
Through thy peril and thy pain;
Think how strong an arm preserved thee,—
Will it not preserve again?
“Think how rich the compensation
For thy anguish still hath been;
How, for months of sore vexation,
Years of gladness thou hast seen:
Think how precious is the treasure
Which beneath thy bosom lies;
How profound the after pleasure
Which thy present suffering buys.
For thy anguish still hath been;
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Years of gladness thou hast seen:
Think how precious is the treasure
Which beneath thy bosom lies;
How profound the after pleasure
Which thy present suffering buys.
“Note yon tricksy prattler's gambols,—
All her mischief,—all her play,
As from room to room she rambles,
Ever restless, ever gay.
Swift as thought her antics vary,
Stout is she of heart and limb,
Frolicsome as forest fairy,
Loving as the seraphim.
All her mischief,—all her play,
As from room to room she rambles,
Ever restless, ever gay.
Swift as thought her antics vary,
Stout is she of heart and limb,
Frolicsome as forest fairy,
Loving as the seraphim.
“Strange and startling are her questions,
Apt and quaint her quick replies;
With instinctive, prompt suggestions
Nature makes her passing wise.
Still you trace, in voice and feature,
Dawning thought and fancy wild,—
Yet the gay and graceful creature
Is a simple-hearted child.
Apt and quaint her quick replies;
With instinctive, prompt suggestions
Nature makes her passing wise.
Still you trace, in voice and feature,
Dawning thought and fancy wild,—
Yet the gay and graceful creature
Is a simple-hearted child.
“Calculate the price which bought her,—
All the sickness, anguish, fear;
Wilt thou say so sweet a daughter
Cost a single pang too dear?
Wilt thou not for such another—
—Son or daughter, as may be—
Bear the burden of a mother,
With a mother's constancy?
All the sickness, anguish, fear;
Wilt thou say so sweet a daughter
Cost a single pang too dear?
Wilt thou not for such another—
—Son or daughter, as may be—
Bear the burden of a mother,
With a mother's constancy?
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“Let confiding expectation
Chase the shades of grief and gloom;
Bid prophetic speculation
Guess what treasure fills thy womb.
Could'st thou know what store of gladness,
Day by day, is gathering there,
Haply 'twould convert thy sadness
Into bliss too great to bear.
Chase the shades of grief and gloom;
Bid prophetic speculation
Guess what treasure fills thy womb.
Could'st thou know what store of gladness,
Day by day, is gathering there,
Haply 'twould convert thy sadness
Into bliss too great to bear.
“Haply now thou bear'st within thee
Comfort for thy widow'd years;
Joy which shall hereafter win thee
From thy troubles and thy tears;
Firm support to help and hold thee
Down the slope of life's decline;
Love—whose fond embrace shall fold thee
When by death divorced from mine.
Comfort for thy widow'd years;
Joy which shall hereafter win thee
From thy troubles and thy tears;
Firm support to help and hold thee
Down the slope of life's decline;
Love—whose fond embrace shall fold thee
When by death divorced from mine.
“Precious gifts, and rich in blessing,
Are the children of our age;
Joys which mock not the possessing
E'en of life's concluding stage.
Though divergent paths bereave us,
Of our elder, earlier born,
These, we trust, will never leave us,
Since our evening is their morn.”
Are the children of our age;
Joys which mock not the possessing
E'en of life's concluding stage.
Though divergent paths bereave us,
Of our elder, earlier born,
These, we trust, will never leave us,
Since our evening is their morn.”
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