 | Traits and trials (1836) |  |
113
THE SAILOR.
Now tell me of my brother,
So far away at sea;
Amid the Indian islands,
Of which you read to me.
So far away at sea;
Amid the Indian islands,
Of which you read to me.
I wish that I were with him,
Then I should see on high
The tall and stately cocoa,
That rises mid the sky.
Then I should see on high
The tall and stately cocoa,
That rises mid the sky.
But only round the summit
The feathery leaves are seen,
Like the plumes of some great warrior,
It spreads its shining green.
The feathery leaves are seen,
Like the plumes of some great warrior,
It spreads its shining green.
And there the flowers are brighter
Than any that I know;
And the birds have purple plumage,
And wings of crimson glow.
Than any that I know;
And the birds have purple plumage,
And wings of crimson glow.
There grow cinnamon and spices,
And, for a mile and more,
The cool sweet gales of evening
Bring perfume from the shore.
And, for a mile and more,
The cool sweet gales of evening
Bring perfume from the shore.
Amid those sunny islands
His good ship has to roam:
Amid so many wonders
He must forget his home.
His good ship has to roam:
Amid so many wonders
He must forget his home.
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And yet his native valley
How fair it is to-day!
I hear the brook below us
Go singing on its way.
How fair it is to-day!
I hear the brook below us
Go singing on its way.
Amid its water lilies
He launch'd his first small boat—
He taught me how to build them,
And how to make them float.
He launch'd his first small boat—
He taught me how to build them,
And how to make them float.
And there too are the yew trees
From whence he cut his bow;
Mournfully are they sweeping
The long green grass below.
From whence he cut his bow;
Mournfully are they sweeping
The long green grass below.
It is the lonely churchyard,
And many tombs are there;
On one no weeds are growing,
But many a flower is fair.
And many tombs are there;
On one no weeds are growing,
But many a flower is fair.
Though lovely are the countries
That lie beyond the wave,
He will not find among them
Our mother's early grave.
That lie beyond the wave,
He will not find among them
Our mother's early grave.
I fear not for the summer,
However bright it be;
My heart says that my brother
Will seek his home and me.
However bright it be;
My heart says that my brother
Will seek his home and me.
115
THE LADY MARIAN.
Her silken cloak around her thrown,
Lined with the soft brown fur,
So that no wind, howe'er it blew,
Could blow too rough on her.
Lined with the soft brown fur,
So that no wind, howe'er it blew,
Could blow too rough on her.
The lady Marian thus went forth,
To breathe the opening day;
Two snow-white ponies drew the chair
That bare her on her way.
To breathe the opening day;
Two snow-white ponies drew the chair
That bare her on her way.
A little page upheld the reins,
Who, drest in gold and green,
Might have seem'd fitting charioteer
To her the fairy queen.
Who, drest in gold and green,
Might have seem'd fitting charioteer
To her the fairy queen.
The graceful equipage drove on,
And sought the woodland shade;
Where boughs of aspen and of birch
A pleasant shelter made.
And sought the woodland shade;
Where boughs of aspen and of birch
A pleasant shelter made.
A murmur musical and sad
Disturbed the noon-tide rest;
For balanced on each topmost branch
Hung the wood pigeons' nest
Disturbed the noon-tide rest;
For balanced on each topmost branch
Hung the wood pigeons' nest
But soon amid the parting trees
There came a gladder song;
For, fill'd with music and with light,
A small brook danced along.
There came a gladder song;
For, fill'd with music and with light,
A small brook danced along.
The small brook had a cheerful song,
But one more cheerful still,
The song of childhood in its mirth,
Came o'er its sunny rill.
But one more cheerful still,
The song of childhood in its mirth,
Came o'er its sunny rill.
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Over the silvery wave which shewed
The pebbles white below,
Where cool beneath the running stream
The water-cresses grow;
The pebbles white below,
Where cool beneath the running stream
The water-cresses grow;
A little maiden gathering them,
Bent down with natural grace;
The sunshine touch'd her auburn hair,
The rose was on her face.
Bent down with natural grace;
The sunshine touch'd her auburn hair,
The rose was on her face.
A rose accustomed to the sun,
Which gave a richer hue
Than ever pale and languid flower
Within a hot-house knew.
Which gave a richer hue
Than ever pale and languid flower
Within a hot-house knew.
Blessing the child within her heart,
Marian past thoughtful by,
And long the child watch'd thro' the boughs,
With dark and alter'd eye.
Marian past thoughtful by,
And long the child watch'd thro' the boughs,
With dark and alter'd eye.
And when the lady past again,
The brook its glad song kept;
But, leaning on its wild flower bank,
The little maiden wept.
The brook its glad song kept;
But, leaning on its wild flower bank,
The little maiden wept.
Marian was still a child in years,
Though not a child in thought;
She paused, and with her low soft voice,
The cause for sorrow sought.
Though not a child in thought;
She paused, and with her low soft voice,
The cause for sorrow sought.
It was for envy Edith wept,
And this she shamed to say;
And it was long e'er Marian learnt
Why tears had found their way.
And this she shamed to say;
And it was long e'er Marian learnt
Why tears had found their way.
117
At last she rather guess'd than learnt,
And with a graver tone
She said, “Oh rather thank thy God,
My lot is not thine own.
And with a graver tone
She said, “Oh rather thank thy God,
My lot is not thine own.
“How would my weary feet rejoice
Like thine to walk and run
Over the soft and fragrant grass,
Beneath yon cheerful sun.
Like thine to walk and run
Over the soft and fragrant grass,
Beneath yon cheerful sun.
“And yet I trust to God's good will
My spirit is resign'd;
Though sore my sickness, it is borne
At least with patient mind.
My spirit is resign'd;
Though sore my sickness, it is borne
At least with patient mind.
“Though noble be my father's name,
And vast my father's wealth;
He would give all, could he but give
His only child thy health!
And vast my father's wealth;
He would give all, could he but give
His only child thy health!
“Ah, judge not by the outside show
Of this world, vain and frail—”
Still wept the child; but now she wept
To watch a cheek so pale.
Of this world, vain and frail—”
Still wept the child; but now she wept
To watch a cheek so pale.
The lady Marian's voice grew faint,
Her hour of strength was o'er;
She whisper'd, “Come to-morrow morn,
And I will tell thee more.”
Her hour of strength was o'er;
She whisper'd, “Come to-morrow morn,
And I will tell thee more.”
Next morning Edith sought the hall;—
They shew'd her Marian laid
Upon a couch where many a year
That gentle child had pray'd.
They shew'd her Marian laid
Upon a couch where many a year
That gentle child had pray'd.
118
And dark and hollow were her eyes,
Yet tenderly the while
Play'd o'er her thin white cheek and lip
A sweet and patient smile.
Yet tenderly the while
Play'd o'er her thin white cheek and lip
A sweet and patient smile.
The shadow of the grave was nigh,
But to her face was given
A holy light from that far home
Where she was hastening—heaven.
But to her face was given
A holy light from that far home
Where she was hastening—heaven.
It was her latest task on earth,
That work of faith and love;
She taught that village child to raise
Her youthful heart above.
That work of faith and love;
She taught that village child to raise
Her youthful heart above.
She gave her sweet and humble thoughts
That make their own content;
And hopes that are the gift of heaven,
When heavenward they are bent.
That make their own content;
And hopes that are the gift of heaven,
When heavenward they are bent.
And many wept above the tomb
That over Marian closed;
When in the bosom of her God
The weary soul reposed.
That over Marian closed;
When in the bosom of her God
The weary soul reposed.
None wept with tenderer tears than she
Who such vain tears had shed;
But holy was the weeping given
To the beloved dead.
Who such vain tears had shed;
But holy was the weeping given
To the beloved dead.
Throughout a long and happy life
That peasant maiden kept
The lesson of that blessed hour
When by the brook she wept.
That peasant maiden kept
The lesson of that blessed hour
When by the brook she wept.
911
THE PRISONER.
“Now come and see the linnet that I have caught to-day,
Its wicker cage is fastened, he cannot fly away.
All the morning I've been watching the twigs I lim'd last night;
At last he perch'd upon them—he took no further flight.
I wish he would be quiet, and sit him down and sing—
You cannot see the feathers upon his dark brown wing.”
Its wicker cage is fastened, he cannot fly away.
All the morning I've been watching the twigs I lim'd last night;
At last he perch'd upon them—he took no further flight.
I wish he would be quiet, and sit him down and sing—
You cannot see the feathers upon his dark brown wing.”
He was her younger brother—she laid aside her book,
His sister with her pale soft cheek, and sweet and serious look—
“Alas,” she cried, “poor prisoner, now, Henry, set him free,
His terror and his struggles I cannot bear to see.”
But the eager boy stood silent, and with a darken'd brow,
Such pains as he had taken, he could not lose them now.
His sister with her pale soft cheek, and sweet and serious look—
“Alas,” she cried, “poor prisoner, now, Henry, set him free,
His terror and his struggles I cannot bear to see.”
But the eager boy stood silent, and with a darken'd brow,
Such pains as he had taken, he could not lose them now.
“Poor bird! see how he flutters! and many a broken plume
Lies scatter'd in the struggle, around his narrow room.
His wings will soon be weary, and he will pine and die
For love of the green forest, and of the clear blue sky.
We read of giants, Henry, in those old books of ours,
Would you like to be a captive within their gloomy towers?
Lies scatter'd in the struggle, around his narrow room.
His wings will soon be weary, and he will pine and die
For love of the green forest, and of the clear blue sky.
We read of giants, Henry, in those old books of ours,
Would you like to be a captive within their gloomy towers?
“You said in our old ash-tree a bird had built its nest;
Perhaps this very linnet has there its place of rest.
Now who will keep his little ones when night begins to fall?
They have no other shelter, and they will perish all.
There'll be no more sweet singing within that lonely grove;
Now, Henry, free your prisoner, I pray you, for my love.
Perhaps this very linnet has there its place of rest.
Now who will keep his little ones when night begins to fall?
They have no other shelter, and they will perish all.
There'll be no more sweet singing within that lonely grove;
Now, Henry, free your prisoner, I pray you, for my love.
120
“Our father is a soldier, and in some distant war
He too might be a prisoner in foreign lands afar.”
Her dark eyes filled with tear-drops, and she could say no more—
But Henry had already unbarr'd the wicker door.
He threw the window open, and placed the cage below,
And to the ash-tree coppice he watch'd the linnet go.
He too might be a prisoner in foreign lands afar.”
Her dark eyes filled with tear-drops, and she could say no more—
But Henry had already unbarr'd the wicker door.
He threw the window open, and placed the cage below,
And to the ash-tree coppice he watch'd the linnet go.
That evening when the sunset flung around its rosy light,
And the air was sweet with summer, and the many flowers were bright,
They took their walk together, and as they past along,
They heard from that old ash-tree the linnet's pleasant song.
It was like a sweet thanksgiving; and Henry, thus spoke he,
“How glad I am, my sister, I set the linnet free.”
And the air was sweet with summer, and the many flowers were bright,
They took their walk together, and as they past along,
They heard from that old ash-tree the linnet's pleasant song.
It was like a sweet thanksgiving; and Henry, thus spoke he,
“How glad I am, my sister, I set the linnet free.”
145
THE DEAD ROBIN.
“It is dead—it is dead—it will wake no more
With the earliest light, as it wak'd before—
And singing, as if it were glad to wake,
And wanted our longer sleep to break;
We found it a little unfledg'd thing,
With no plume to smooth and no voice to sing;
The father and mother both were gone,
And the callow nurseling left alone.
With the earliest light, as it wak'd before—
And singing, as if it were glad to wake,
And wanted our longer sleep to break;
We found it a little unfledg'd thing,
With no plume to smooth and no voice to sing;
The father and mother both were gone,
And the callow nurseling left alone.
“For a wind, as fierce as those from the sea,
Had broken the boughs of the apple tree;
The scattered leaves lay thick on the ground,
And among them the nest and the bird we found.
We warm'd it, and fed it, and made it a nest
Of Indian cotton, and watch'd its rest;
Its feathers grew soft, and its wing grew strong,
And happy it seemed as the day was long.
Had broken the boughs of the apple tree;
The scattered leaves lay thick on the ground,
And among them the nest and the bird we found.
We warm'd it, and fed it, and made it a nest
Of Indian cotton, and watch'd its rest;
Its feathers grew soft, and its wing grew strong,
And happy it seemed as the day was long.
“Do you remember its large dark eye,
How it brightened, when one of us came nigh?
How it would stretch its throat and sing,
And beat the osier cage with its wing,
Till we let it forth, and it perched on our hand—
It needed not hood, nor silken band,
Like the falcons we read of, in days gone by,
Linked to the wrist lest away they should fly.
How it brightened, when one of us came nigh?
How it would stretch its throat and sing,
And beat the osier cage with its wing,
Till we let it forth, and it perched on our hand—
It needed not hood, nor silken band,
Like the falcons we read of, in days gone by,
Linked to the wrist lest away they should fly.
146
“But our bird knew not of the free blue air,
He had lived in his cage, and his home was there:
No flight had he in the green wood flown—
He pined not for freedom he never had known!
If he had lived amid leaf and bough
It had been cruel to fetter him now;
For I have seen a poor bird die,
And all for love of his native sky.
He had lived in his cage, and his home was there:
No flight had he in the green wood flown—
He pined not for freedom he never had known!
If he had lived amid leaf and bough
It had been cruel to fetter him now;
For I have seen a poor bird die,
And all for love of his native sky.
“But our's would come to our cup and sip,
And peck the sugar away from our lip—
Would sit on our shoulder and sing, then creep
And nestle in our hands to sleep:
There is the water, and there is the seed—
Its cage hung round with the green chickweed;
But the food is untouched—the song is unheard—
Cold and stiff lies our beautiful bird.”
And peck the sugar away from our lip—
Would sit on our shoulder and sing, then creep
And nestle in our hands to sleep:
There is the water, and there is the seed—
Its cage hung round with the green chickweed;
But the food is untouched—the song is unheard—
Cold and stiff lies our beautiful bird.”
147
THE SOLDIER'S HOME.
Thus spoke the aged wanderer,
A kind old man was he,
Smoothing the fair child's golden hair
Who sat upon his knee:—
A kind old man was he,
Smoothing the fair child's golden hair
Who sat upon his knee:—
“'Tis now some fifteen years, or more,
Since to your town I came;
And, though a stranger, made my home
Where no one knew my name.
Since to your town I came;
And, though a stranger, made my home
Where no one knew my name.
“I did not seek your pleasant woods,
Where the green linnets sing—
Nor yet your meadows, for the sake
Of any living thing.
Where the green linnets sing—
Nor yet your meadows, for the sake
Of any living thing.
“For fairer is the little town,
And brighter is the tide,
And pleasanter the woods that hang
My native river's side.
And brighter is the tide,
And pleasanter the woods that hang
My native river's side.
“Or such, at least, they seemed to me—
I spent my boyhood there;
And memory, in looking back,
Makes every thing more fair.
I spent my boyhood there;
And memory, in looking back,
Makes every thing more fair.
“But half a century has past
Since last I saw their face;
God hath appointed me, at length,
Another resting-place.
Since last I saw their face;
God hath appointed me, at length,
Another resting-place.
148
“I have gone east—I have gone west:
I served in that brave band
Which fought beneath the pyramids,
In Egypt's ancient land.
I served in that brave band
Which fought beneath the pyramids,
In Egypt's ancient land.
“I saw the Nile swell o'er its banks
And bury all around;
And when it ebbed, the fertile land
Was like fair garden ground.
And bury all around;
And when it ebbed, the fertile land
Was like fair garden ground.
“I saw the golden Ganges, next,
No meadow is so green
As the bright fields of verdant rice
Beside its waters seen.
No meadow is so green
As the bright fields of verdant rice
Beside its waters seen.
“There grows the mournful peepul tree,
Whose boughs are scattered o'er
The door-way of the warrior's house,
When he returns no more.
Whose boughs are scattered o'er
The door-way of the warrior's house,
When he returns no more.
“I followed where our colours led,
In many a hard-won day;
From ocean to the Pyrenees,
Old England fought her way.
In many a hard-won day;
From ocean to the Pyrenees,
Old England fought her way.
149
“I had a young companion then—
My own, my only child!—
The darkest watch, the longest march,
His laugh and song beguil'd.
My own, my only child!—
The darkest watch, the longest march,
His laugh and song beguil'd.
“He was as cheerful as the lark
That singeth in the sky;
His comrades gladdened on their way,
Whene'er his step drew nigh.
That singeth in the sky;
His comrades gladdened on their way,
Whene'er his step drew nigh.
“But he was wounded, and was sent
To join a homeward band;
Thank God, he drew his latest breath
Within his native land.
To join a homeward band;
Thank God, he drew his latest breath
Within his native land.
“I shared in all our victories,
But sad they were to me;
I only saw the one pale face
That was beyond the sea.
But sad they were to me;
I only saw the one pale face
That was beyond the sea.
“Peace came at last, and I was sent,
With many more, to roam;
There were glad partings then, for most
Had some accustomed home.
With many more, to roam;
There were glad partings then, for most
Had some accustomed home.
“I took my medal, and with that
I crost the salt sea wave;
Others might seek their native vales,
I only sought a grave.
I crost the salt sea wave;
Others might seek their native vales,
I only sought a grave.
“I knew that, on his homeward march,
My gallant boy had died;
I knew that he had found a grave
By yonder river's side.
My gallant boy had died;
I knew that he had found a grave
By yonder river's side.
150
“The summer sun-set, soft and warm,
Seemed as it blest the sleep
Of that low grave, which held my child,
O'er which I longed to weep.
Seemed as it blest the sleep
Of that low grave, which held my child,
O'er which I longed to weep.
“The aged yew-trees' sweeping boughs
A solemn shadow spread;
And many a growth of early flowers
Their soothing fragrance shed.
A solemn shadow spread;
And many a growth of early flowers
Their soothing fragrance shed.
“But there were weeds upon his grave:
None watch'd the stranger's tomb,
And bade, amid its long green grass,
The spring's sweet children bloom.
None watch'd the stranger's tomb,
And bade, amid its long green grass,
The spring's sweet children bloom.
“You know the spot—our old church yard
Has no such grave beside;
The primrose and the violet
There blossom in their pride.
Has no such grave beside;
The primrose and the violet
There blossom in their pride.
“It is my only task on earth—
It is my only joy,
To keep, throughout the seasons fair,
The green sod of my boy.
It is my only joy,
To keep, throughout the seasons fair,
The green sod of my boy.
“Nor kin nor kindness have I lacked,
All here have been my friends;
And, with a blessing at its close,
My lengthened wayfare ends.
All here have been my friends;
And, with a blessing at its close,
My lengthened wayfare ends.
“And now my little Edward knows
The cause why here I dwell;
And how I trust to have my grave
By his I love so well.”
The cause why here I dwell;
And how I trust to have my grave
By his I love so well.”
| Traits and trials (1836) | |