Ellen Gray or, The dead maiden's curse. A poem, by the late Dr. Archibald Macleod [i.e. W. L. Bowles] |
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 | Ellen Gray |  |
At early dawn, gay Hubert pass'd along,—
The birds were singing loud their hedge-row song;—
The meadow's pathway, on which fairies threw
Their lightest net-work of the film and dew,
Careless he brush'd: the sun rose as he pass'd,
A line of glory on the scene was cast,—
Where the brook, trembling in the orient light,
Stole by; and now, the small spire rose in sight,
As the mist creeping from the nether plain
Flew off, departing to the northern main.
Now, peeping from the river's farther side,
Ellen's maternal cottage he descried,
And saw a faded garland at the door,
And with'ring branches of the sycamore:
But heard no humming wheel, and saw no smoke
Slow rising o'er the shades of pine and oak.
Ah! was it fancy? as he pass'd along,
He thought he heard a spirit's feeble song !
Struck by the thrilling sound, he turned his look,—
Upon the ground there lay an open book,—
The page was folded down:—Spirit of grace!
Ah! there are soils, like tear-blots, on the place:
It was a pray'r-book!—and these words he read:
“Let him be desolate, and beg his bread !
“Let there be none—not one on earth to bless,—
“Be his days few,—his children fatherless,—
“His wife a widow!—let there be no friend
“In his last moments mercy to extend!”
The birds were singing loud their hedge-row song;—
The meadow's pathway, on which fairies threw
Their lightest net-work of the film and dew,
Careless he brush'd: the sun rose as he pass'd,
A line of glory on the scene was cast,—
Where the brook, trembling in the orient light,
Stole by; and now, the small spire rose in sight,
As the mist creeping from the nether plain
Flew off, departing to the northern main.
Now, peeping from the river's farther side,
Ellen's maternal cottage he descried,
And saw a faded garland at the door,
And with'ring branches of the sycamore:
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Slow rising o'er the shades of pine and oak.
Ah! was it fancy? as he pass'd along,
He thought he heard a spirit's feeble song !
Struck by the thrilling sound, he turned his look,—
Upon the ground there lay an open book,—
The page was folded down:—Spirit of grace!
Ah! there are soils, like tear-blots, on the place:
It was a pray'r-book!—and these words he read:
“Let him be desolate, and beg his bread !
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“Be his days few,—his children fatherless,—
“His wife a widow!—let there be no friend
“In his last moments mercy to extend!”
It is a common idea in Cornwall, that when any person is drowned, the voice of his spirit may be heard by those who first pass by.
The passage folded down was the 109th Psalm, commonly called “the imprecating Psalm.” It is now generally understood, that the imprecations were denounced by David's enemies against himself. I extract the most affecting passages:—
“May his days be few.”
“Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow.”
“Let there be none to extend mercy.”
“Let their name be blotted out, because he slayed even the broken in heart.”
| Ellen Gray | |