Ballads and Other Poems By Mary Howitt |
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 | Ballads and Other Poems |  |
I. PART I.
A lowly child was Carlovan, a child of ten years old;
His eye was dark and thoughtful, his spirit kind and bold.
No wealth had he, young Carlovan, save his father's book of prayer,
And the golden ring, of little worth, which his dead mother ware.
He had no home, young Carlovan, an orphan child was he;
And yet no rich man said to him, “Come, be a son to me.”
There was no one to counsel him, no friend to hear his moan;
And Carlovan rose up and went into the world alone.
His eye was dark and thoughtful, his spirit kind and bold.
No wealth had he, young Carlovan, save his father's book of prayer,
And the golden ring, of little worth, which his dead mother ware.
He had no home, young Carlovan, an orphan child was he;
And yet no rich man said to him, “Come, be a son to me.”
There was no one to counsel him, no friend to hear his moan;
And Carlovan rose up and went into the world alone.
“For the love of God,” said Carlovan, to a rich priest whom he met,
“Give me an alms, for it is night, and I am fasting yet!”
The haughty priest looked down on him, with hard, unpitying eye,
The haughty priest went on his way and made him no reply.
For seven days on went Carlovan, through the wild wood and the clear,
And at night he laid him down to rest among the herded deer.
Upon the eighth young Carlovan saw, riding by the way,
A warrior on an armëd steed, in glittering, proud array.
A prayer sprang ready to his lips, and forth he stretched his hand,
But then he knew that man of blood, the spoiler of his land;
And to his dark and thoughtful eye the human tears did start,
He turned without a word away, and sadder grew his heart.
Then at a peasant's lowly door he made his humble prayer;
But the peasant swore with bitter words that he had nought to spare.
Next at a castle's gate he prayed, where a hundred vassals wait;
But they called him thief and beggar loon, and drove him from the gate.
“Give me an alms, for it is night, and I am fasting yet!”
The haughty priest looked down on him, with hard, unpitying eye,
The haughty priest went on his way and made him no reply.
For seven days on went Carlovan, through the wild wood and the clear,
And at night he laid him down to rest among the herded deer.
236
A warrior on an armëd steed, in glittering, proud array.
A prayer sprang ready to his lips, and forth he stretched his hand,
But then he knew that man of blood, the spoiler of his land;
And to his dark and thoughtful eye the human tears did start,
He turned without a word away, and sadder grew his heart.
Then at a peasant's lowly door he made his humble prayer;
But the peasant swore with bitter words that he had nought to spare.
Next at a castle's gate he prayed, where a hundred vassals wait;
But they called him thief and beggar loon, and drove him from the gate.
A heavy heart had Carlovan, and the tears were in his eye;
Up to the green hill-top he went, and laid him down to die.
But first he prayed a holy prayer, to purify his mind,
And wished some blessëd company might take him from mankind.
With an earnest heart prayed Carlovan; and, when his prayer was said,
The fair round moon came up the sky, the stars paled overhead,
And he heard beneath the green hill-top a low sad voice that said,
“Oh, I have not a book to read, not a page whereon to pore;
I have read all these from first to last, and there are now no more!”
“Whoever thou art,” said Carlovan, “to me thy footsteps bend:
I have a book of goodly lore which I to thee will lend.”
With that up stepped a little old man, of mild, sagacious look,
And bending forth, with eager haste, he seized upon the book.
“Now thank thee, child, for this new book,” the old man gravely said,
“And may each blessing in this book be showered upon thy head!”
Up to the green hill-top he went, and laid him down to die.
But first he prayed a holy prayer, to purify his mind,
And wished some blessëd company might take him from mankind.
With an earnest heart prayed Carlovan; and, when his prayer was said,
The fair round moon came up the sky, the stars paled overhead,
And he heard beneath the green hill-top a low sad voice that said,
“Oh, I have not a book to read, not a page whereon to pore;
I have read all these from first to last, and there are now no more!”
237
I have a book of goodly lore which I to thee will lend.”
With that up stepped a little old man, of mild, sagacious look,
And bending forth, with eager haste, he seized upon the book.
“Now thank thee, child, for this new book,” the old man gravely said,
“And may each blessing in this book be showered upon thy head!”
Again by himself sits Carlovan on the green hill-top so lone,
The night-wind stirred the long grey moss on many an ancient stone.
The driving clouds came up the sky, the yellow moon grew pale,
And just below the lonesome hill he heard a feeble wail.
“Oh! she is gone!” it said, “is gone! we may not her regain;
She must the woes of life endure, must suffer mortal pain;
Nought but a Christian mother's ring can bring her back again!”
“Whoe'er ye be,” cried Carlovan, “here let your footsteps wend,
I have my Christian mother's ring, which I to you will lend.”
With that he saw, all round the hill, come thronging shapes of light,
More radiant than the opening flowers, or than the day more bright.
They were not creatures of the earth, too fair for human clay;
As angels they were beautiful, yet had not wings as they.
“Now thank thee, thank thee, for thy ring,” they cried with voices mild,
And gently raised him by the hand, and stroked his hair, and smiled.
“We will repay thee, child,” they said: “now, follow where we go.”
And they led him to a far-off place, but where he did not know.
It was no place upon the earth, nor was it in the air;
Some far-off place of happiness, and yet they soon were there.
They made him eat of wheaten cakes, of fruits delicious, seven;
And as he ate and drank he thought that he had passed to heaven.
They bathed him in a silver bath of water cool and sweet;
They poured rich odour on his hair, and dews upon his feet;
They laid him on a silken bed of down so soft and deep;
And dreams that were like paradise kept with him in his sleep.
The night-wind stirred the long grey moss on many an ancient stone.
The driving clouds came up the sky, the yellow moon grew pale,
And just below the lonesome hill he heard a feeble wail.
“Oh! she is gone!” it said, “is gone! we may not her regain;
She must the woes of life endure, must suffer mortal pain;
Nought but a Christian mother's ring can bring her back again!”
“Whoe'er ye be,” cried Carlovan, “here let your footsteps wend,
I have my Christian mother's ring, which I to you will lend.”
With that he saw, all round the hill, come thronging shapes of light,
More radiant than the opening flowers, or than the day more bright.
They were not creatures of the earth, too fair for human clay;
As angels they were beautiful, yet had not wings as they.
238
And gently raised him by the hand, and stroked his hair, and smiled.
“We will repay thee, child,” they said: “now, follow where we go.”
And they led him to a far-off place, but where he did not know.
It was no place upon the earth, nor was it in the air;
Some far-off place of happiness, and yet they soon were there.
They made him eat of wheaten cakes, of fruits delicious, seven;
And as he ate and drank he thought that he had passed to heaven.
They bathed him in a silver bath of water cool and sweet;
They poured rich odour on his hair, and dews upon his feet;
They laid him on a silken bed of down so soft and deep;
And dreams that were like paradise kept with him in his sleep.
| Ballads and Other Poems | |