The Widow's Tale and other Poems. By the Author of Ellen Fitzarthur [i.e. by C. A. Bowles] |
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THE APRIL DAY. |
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 | The Widow's Tale |  |
70
THE APRIL DAY.
20th, 1820.
All day the low hung clouds have dropt
Their garnered fulness down;
All day that soft grey mist hath wrapt
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
Their garnered fulness down;
All day that soft grey mist hath wrapt
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
There has not been a sound to day
To break the calm of nature;
Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life or living creature:
To break the calm of nature;
Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life or living creature:
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Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
Or cattle faintly lowing;
I could have half-believed I heard
The leaves and blossoms growing.
Or cattle faintly lowing;
I could have half-believed I heard
The leaves and blossoms growing.
I stood to hear—I love it well,
The rains continuous sound:
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
Down straight into the ground.
The rains continuous sound:
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
Down straight into the ground.
For leafy thickness is not yet
Earth's naked breast to skreen,
Though ev'ry dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Earth's naked breast to skreen,
Though ev'ry dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Sure since I looked, at early morn,
Those honey-suckle buds
Have swelled to double growth: that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs.
Those honey-suckle buds
Have swelled to double growth: that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs.
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That lilac's cleaving cones have burst,
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Ev'n now, upon my senses first,
Methinks their sweets are stealing:
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Ev'n now, upon my senses first,
Methinks their sweets are stealing:
The very earth, the steamy air,
Is all with fragrance rife!
And grace and beauty ev'ry where
Are flushing into life.
Is all with fragrance rife!
And grace and beauty ev'ry where
Are flushing into life.
Down, down they come—those fruitful stores!
Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops.
Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops.
And e'er the dimples on the stream
Have circled out of sight,
Lo! from the west, a parting gleam
Breaks forth of amber light.
Have circled out of sight,
Lo! from the west, a parting gleam
Breaks forth of amber light.
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It slants along that emerald mead,
Across those poplars tall,
And brightens every rain-gloss'd weed
On that old mossy wall.
Across those poplars tall,
And brightens every rain-gloss'd weed
On that old mossy wall.
The windows of that mansion old
Enkindled by the blaze,
Reflect in flames of living gold,
The concentrated rays.
Enkindled by the blaze,
Reflect in flames of living gold,
The concentrated rays.
But yet, behold—abrupt and loud
Comes down the glittering rain—
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of its train.
Comes down the glittering rain—
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of its train.
'Tis o'er—the blackbird's glossy wing
Flirts off the sparkling spray,
As yon tall elm he mounts, to sing
His evening roundelay.
Flirts off the sparkling spray,
As yon tall elm he mounts, to sing
His evening roundelay.
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And many a little tuneful throat
Responds its vesper strain:
And life's awakening murmurs float,
And motion stirs again.
Responds its vesper strain:
And life's awakening murmurs float,
And motion stirs again.
And down the lane comes winding slow,
A train of lazy cows,
Fresh from rich glebes, yet loitering now
A hedgerow feast to browse.
A train of lazy cows,
Fresh from rich glebes, yet loitering now
A hedgerow feast to browse.
With sounds of modulation rude,
Yon cow-boy chides them on,
And echo mocks, in sportive mood,
Th' uncouthly varied tone.
Yon cow-boy chides them on,
And echo mocks, in sportive mood,
Th' uncouthly varied tone.
They pass—the unwilling lingerers pass,
The trampled lane is clear—
Not long—a living fleecy mass,
Comes bleating in the rear.
The trampled lane is clear—
Not long—a living fleecy mass,
Comes bleating in the rear.
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Through distant trees, the sun-set glow
Freckles their fleeces white:
Behind those elms I lose them—now
They wind again in sight:
Freckles their fleeces white:
Behind those elms I lose them—now
They wind again in sight:
They wind into the stream of light
That pours across the road,
And all the moving mass is bright,
In one broad yellow flood.
That pours across the road,
And all the moving mass is bright,
In one broad yellow flood.
And even of these, some stragglers fain
Would linger by the way;
Some “milky mothers” of the train,
With their young lambs at play.
Would linger by the way;
Some “milky mothers” of the train,
With their young lambs at play.
But there's a faithful guard at hand,
One ever active, bold—
The marshal of the straggling band—
The watcher of the fold.—
One ever active, bold—
The marshal of the straggling band—
The watcher of the fold.—
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Look! how with ireful bark and mien
He paces to and fro—
Yet scarce the last born lamb, I ween,
Much heeds that wrathful show.
He paces to and fro—
Yet scarce the last born lamb, I ween,
Much heeds that wrathful show.
The shepherd saunters last—but why
Comes with him pace, for pace,
That ewe? and why so piteously
Looks up the creature's face?
Comes with him pace, for pace,
That ewe? and why so piteously
Looks up the creature's face?
Swung in his careless hand, she sees
(Poor ewe!) a dead, cold weight,
The little one, her soft warm fleece
So fondly cherished late.
(Poor ewe!) a dead, cold weight,
The little one, her soft warm fleece
So fondly cherished late.
But yesterday, no happier dam
Ranged o'er those pastures wide,
Than she, fond creature! when the lamb
Was sporting by her side.
Ranged o'er those pastures wide,
Than she, fond creature! when the lamb
Was sporting by her side.
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It was a new-born thing—the rain
Poured down all night—its bed
Was drenched and cold:—morn came again,
But the young lamb was dead.
Poured down all night—its bed
Was drenched and cold:—morn came again,
But the young lamb was dead.
Yet the poor mother's fond distress
Its ev'ry art had tried,
To shield, with sleepless tenderness,
The weak one at her side.
Its ev'ry art had tried,
To shield, with sleepless tenderness,
The weak one at her side.
Round it all night, she gathered warm
Her woolly limbs—her head
Close curved across its feeble form—
Day dawned, and it was dead.—
Her woolly limbs—her head
Close curved across its feeble form—
Day dawned, and it was dead.—
She saw it dead—she felt, she knew
It had no strength, no breath—
Yet how should she conceive, poor ewe!
The mystery of death?
It had no strength, no breath—
Yet how should she conceive, poor ewe!
The mystery of death?
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It lay before her stiff and cold—
Yet fondly she essayed
To cherish it in love's warm fold,
Then restless trial made.
Yet fondly she essayed
To cherish it in love's warm fold,
Then restless trial made.
Moving, with still reverted face,
And low complaining bleat,
T' entice from their damp resting place,
Those little stiff'ning feet.
And low complaining bleat,
T' entice from their damp resting place,
Those little stiff'ning feet.
All would not do, when all was tried—
Love's last fond lure was vain;
So quietly by its dead side
She laid her down again.
Love's last fond lure was vain;
So quietly by its dead side
She laid her down again.
Methinks, to that dumb creature's woe
Were human utt'rance lent,
In some such words as these, would flow
The strain of her lament:—
Were human utt'rance lent,
In some such words as these, would flow
The strain of her lament:—
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“My little love! my hope! my pride!
What dreadful change is wrought in thee,
Since thou wert sporting by my side,
But yestermorn, so joyously?
What dreadful change is wrought in thee,
Since thou wert sporting by my side,
But yestermorn, so joyously?
“Oh! thine has been a long, long sleep!
Such sleep I never saw before—
So hushed, so motionless, so deep,
As thou would'st ne'er awaken more.
Such sleep I never saw before—
So hushed, so motionless, so deep,
As thou would'st ne'er awaken more.
“Wilt thou no more awaken?—never?
How shall I live without thee now?
Methought, we two should live for ever—
The happiest, blithest creature thou,
How shall I live without thee now?
Methought, we two should live for ever—
The happiest, blithest creature thou,
“And I, the most content, to lead
Thy little feet o'er vale and hill;
To show thee, through the greenest mead
Where flows the purest, clearest rill;
Thy little feet o'er vale and hill;
To show thee, through the greenest mead
Where flows the purest, clearest rill;
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“Where blue-bells fringe the shelving banks,
And beds of early violets grow:
And daffodils in golden ranks,
Are peering in the stream below.
And beds of early violets grow:
And daffodils in golden ranks,
Are peering in the stream below.
“When the east wind blew loud and chill,
And fast the fleecy clouds were driven,
We would have sought that sheltering hill,
Warm with the last red light of even;—
And fast the fleecy clouds were driven,
We would have sought that sheltering hill,
Warm with the last red light of even;—
“Or close beside yon broom-clad knoll
Have chosen out our thymy bed,
Where the wild rabbit digs her hole,
With waving fern-leaves overspread;
Have chosen out our thymy bed,
Where the wild rabbit digs her hole,
With waving fern-leaves overspread;
“And when the panting herds forsook
The open plain in summer weather,
I know a little sheltered nook,
Where we two would have crept together:
The open plain in summer weather,
I know a little sheltered nook,
Where we two would have crept together:
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“There's a deep, dark pool in that tangled brake,
That no breeze has ever ruffled;
For the winds, when their loudest din they make,
Sound there with their voices muffled.
That no breeze has ever ruffled;
For the winds, when their loudest din they make,
Sound there with their voices muffled.
“Over head the dark hollys are woven across:
Dark and cool, their close circle they spread;
And the spring bubbles up, through the greenest moss
That was ever by fountain head.
Dark and cool, their close circle they spread;
And the spring bubbles up, through the greenest moss
That was ever by fountain head.
“I thought, my beloved! in that pleasant spot,
How happy we two should be—
I thought, my beloved!—but thou hearest me not:
Thou wilt never go there with me:—
How happy we two should be—
I thought, my beloved!—but thou hearest me not:
Thou wilt never go there with me:—
“Thou hearest me not—thou can'st not hear,
Or I should not moan in vain:
Thou wilt never go with me, my gentle dear!
Nor sport by my side again—
Or I should not moan in vain:
Thou wilt never go with me, my gentle dear!
Nor sport by my side again—
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“There are happy mothers beneath the sun—
Some have two lambs—some three—
But I, my little lovely one!
But I, had only thee!”
Some have two lambs—some three—
But I, my little lovely one!
But I, had only thee!”
| The Widow's Tale | |