The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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THE PRESAGE. |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
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THE PRESAGE.
'Tis a true tale, though thou may'st deem it fable;
And it doth tell of that prophetic feeling,
Which some have felt sink down into their souls,
In their rejoicing warmth—like a chill touch;
Coming, at once, without a visible cause,
But not without an errand.
And it doth tell of that prophetic feeling,
Which some have felt sink down into their souls,
In their rejoicing warmth—like a chill touch;
Coming, at once, without a visible cause,
But not without an errand.
The sun went forth in glory; the expanse
Of ocean heaved and quivered, in his glance.
And there were hearts that morning on its shore,
Which felt its living freshness at their core:
Hearts which, prepared to make that summer day
Shine on for years—with all the bright array
Of sky, woods, waves and mountain-wilds around,
Gave to their sympathies no stinted bound.
But who looks forth upon the breathing air
With love like him who may not wander there?
'Twas thus young Owen pensively withdrew
To the dull desk, whence many a glance he threw
Where the far-winding shore a sweet glimpse gave
Of grey rocks, smitten by the leaping wave.
How joyously the sun, from cloud and blue,
Shadow and light upon the ocean threw!
How pleasantly the ocean's softened roar
Fell on his heart—his heart could bear no more.
Hark! there are laughing voices! They advance—
And many a lovely and glad countenance
Surrounds him in a moment. Owen flew
And called his mother to this happy crew.
“Mother my father told me, ere he went,
My day must at the lazy desk be spent.
Look out, dear mother!—see that glorious sky!
See how the sun-beams on the waters lie.
See how the billows glitter as they flow,
And kiss the strand, like sudden wreaths of snow!
Oh! see how all abroad looks bright and blest;
Speak thou! and Owen triumphs with the rest.
I am not—am not wanted! we will come
Long ere my father's steed can bear him home!”
Smiles on all lips, and cries of generous zeal,
Echoed the fervour of this strong appeal.
Strong to a mother—feeble was her “No,”
Another onset, and she cried—“Well, go.”
But added, with a mother's anxious tongue,
“Owen be cautious—Owen be not long!”
Of ocean heaved and quivered, in his glance.
And there were hearts that morning on its shore,
Which felt its living freshness at their core:
Hearts which, prepared to make that summer day
Shine on for years—with all the bright array
269
Gave to their sympathies no stinted bound.
But who looks forth upon the breathing air
With love like him who may not wander there?
'Twas thus young Owen pensively withdrew
To the dull desk, whence many a glance he threw
Where the far-winding shore a sweet glimpse gave
Of grey rocks, smitten by the leaping wave.
How joyously the sun, from cloud and blue,
Shadow and light upon the ocean threw!
How pleasantly the ocean's softened roar
Fell on his heart—his heart could bear no more.
Hark! there are laughing voices! They advance—
And many a lovely and glad countenance
Surrounds him in a moment. Owen flew
And called his mother to this happy crew.
“Mother my father told me, ere he went,
My day must at the lazy desk be spent.
Look out, dear mother!—see that glorious sky!
See how the sun-beams on the waters lie.
See how the billows glitter as they flow,
And kiss the strand, like sudden wreaths of snow!
270
Speak thou! and Owen triumphs with the rest.
I am not—am not wanted! we will come
Long ere my father's steed can bear him home!”
Smiles on all lips, and cries of generous zeal,
Echoed the fervour of this strong appeal.
Strong to a mother—feeble was her “No,”
Another onset, and she cried—“Well, go.”
But added, with a mother's anxious tongue,
“Owen be cautious—Owen be not long!”
Away they bounded! Oh the soul of youth!
When joy is transport, and when hope is truth.
When young frames feel immortal—faces fair
Shine in heaven's glory, yet undimmed by care.
The poet's gorgeous dream, the saint's firm faith
Share the warm heart, and promise life no scath.
Away they bounded—distant grew the din
Of merry voices—all was still within.
Still was the mother, where she sate to see
The joyous group speed onward in their glee.
The sight was beautiful:—girls light as air,
And youths as manly as the girls were fair.
The mother's heart rose proudly, as she eyed
Owen among them—she had cause of pride.
But scarcely did those glad ones disappear,
When in her heart sprang up a sudden fear.
Yet faint and lightly o'er her mind it passed,
Like a dim, flying cloud that could not last.
A feeble, fond regret which, whispering low,
Said, “wherefore didst thou let young Owen go?”
She raised her eye—how vain seemed that alarm;
For all abroad was beautiful and calm.
But not within—there lay a stillness dead;
A listening, deepening pause for something dread,
Which struck into her heart a gloomy chill;
A dark, vague sense of unimagined ill.
That inward stroke—that herald of sure woe
Which the proud mock, yet, sometimes undergo:
That superstitious fear,—that credulous awe—
Or what you will—which yet obeys no law
Of mind or matter, by the wise defined,
But comes and goes as traceless as the wind.
Still to be felt, and still to be denied,
Whilst man is man—the slave of woe and pride.
'Twas this which touched her spirit—this which sent
Her eye so often to the firmament;
Seeking to gather from the gleaming day,
A certain solace for that strange dismay.
'Twas this which, hour by hour, she strove to quell,
But found more firm and vigorous to rebel;
Pouring into her heart a busy flow
Of queries, and dark hints of coming woe!
“Ah! wherefore, Owen, did I act so ill,
To send thee forth against thy father's will?
Why did thy father bid thee wait him here?
And wherefore follows this unwonted fear?
The ocean is no novel scene to thee,
But thou hast known it from thine infancy;
Dived in its waters—sailed upon its breast,
In all its varying moods of rage or rest;
Away then with this terror!—Lo! how shine
Yon sun-lit waves, and laugh at fears like mine!”
When joy is transport, and when hope is truth.
When young frames feel immortal—faces fair
Shine in heaven's glory, yet undimmed by care.
The poet's gorgeous dream, the saint's firm faith
Share the warm heart, and promise life no scath.
Away they bounded—distant grew the din
Of merry voices—all was still within.
Still was the mother, where she sate to see
The joyous group speed onward in their glee.
271
And youths as manly as the girls were fair.
The mother's heart rose proudly, as she eyed
Owen among them—she had cause of pride.
But scarcely did those glad ones disappear,
When in her heart sprang up a sudden fear.
Yet faint and lightly o'er her mind it passed,
Like a dim, flying cloud that could not last.
A feeble, fond regret which, whispering low,
Said, “wherefore didst thou let young Owen go?”
She raised her eye—how vain seemed that alarm;
For all abroad was beautiful and calm.
But not within—there lay a stillness dead;
A listening, deepening pause for something dread,
Which struck into her heart a gloomy chill;
A dark, vague sense of unimagined ill.
That inward stroke—that herald of sure woe
Which the proud mock, yet, sometimes undergo:
That superstitious fear,—that credulous awe—
Or what you will—which yet obeys no law
Of mind or matter, by the wise defined,
But comes and goes as traceless as the wind.
272
Whilst man is man—the slave of woe and pride.
'Twas this which touched her spirit—this which sent
Her eye so often to the firmament;
Seeking to gather from the gleaming day,
A certain solace for that strange dismay.
'Twas this which, hour by hour, she strove to quell,
But found more firm and vigorous to rebel;
Pouring into her heart a busy flow
Of queries, and dark hints of coming woe!
“Ah! wherefore, Owen, did I act so ill,
To send thee forth against thy father's will?
Why did thy father bid thee wait him here?
And wherefore follows this unwonted fear?
The ocean is no novel scene to thee,
But thou hast known it from thine infancy;
Dived in its waters—sailed upon its breast,
In all its varying moods of rage or rest;
Away then with this terror!—Lo! how shine
Yon sun-lit waves, and laugh at fears like mine!”
273
The day rolled on in beauty:—noon passed by;
Waves slept at sea; and thin clouds in the sky.
A sunny spirit of delight seemed breathed
Through the warm air; a slumbering beauty wreathed
Itself round flower and foliage, where the bee
Sang its low song of summer luxury.
The whispering leaves, the gush of waters, had
Joy's language in them;—every thing was glad.
All, but that anxious mother—she in vain,
Strove in her mind its wonted peace to gain.
She watched, and reasoned, and from hour to hour,
Felt her wild fears grow curbless in their power.
But when at length, she saw the shadows reach
Far into ocean from the western beach,
She could endure no longer, but away,
She rushed abroad, and hastened towards the bay.
She stood where onward vision had no bar
But the sky resting on the waves afar.
Dark was the shade from mountains stern and hoar,
Flung on the waters of one shelving shore;
The rest was light and glowing; the tide came
Landward, in billows of a sapphire flame.
Vessels of stately size, with stately air,
Rode slowly in; and small skiffs everywhere
Glanced to the sun their little, shining sails.
At times, above the ocean's, and the gale's,
The seaman's song, the boatswain's call was heard;
At times the wild scream of the wheeling bird.
Life, motion, splendour made the sea their own;
Beyond, the basking beach lay still and lone.
The fisher's boat, dragged homeward for the day;
The fisher's hut, in some far dell that lay;
Crags, sleeping hills, and solemn woods imbued
The gazer's spirit with their solitude.
She looked—she looked—not on that quiet scene,
But her eye questioned, with enquiries keen,
Each flying skiff;—at length it fell on one,
'Twas theirs—she knew it—and her fears were gone.—
Waves slept at sea; and thin clouds in the sky.
A sunny spirit of delight seemed breathed
Through the warm air; a slumbering beauty wreathed
Itself round flower and foliage, where the bee
Sang its low song of summer luxury.
The whispering leaves, the gush of waters, had
Joy's language in them;—every thing was glad.
All, but that anxious mother—she in vain,
Strove in her mind its wonted peace to gain.
She watched, and reasoned, and from hour to hour,
Felt her wild fears grow curbless in their power.
But when at length, she saw the shadows reach
Far into ocean from the western beach,
She could endure no longer, but away,
She rushed abroad, and hastened towards the bay.
She stood where onward vision had no bar
But the sky resting on the waves afar.
Dark was the shade from mountains stern and hoar,
Flung on the waters of one shelving shore;
The rest was light and glowing; the tide came
Landward, in billows of a sapphire flame.
274
Rode slowly in; and small skiffs everywhere
Glanced to the sun their little, shining sails.
At times, above the ocean's, and the gale's,
The seaman's song, the boatswain's call was heard;
At times the wild scream of the wheeling bird.
Life, motion, splendour made the sea their own;
Beyond, the basking beach lay still and lone.
The fisher's boat, dragged homeward for the day;
The fisher's hut, in some far dell that lay;
Crags, sleeping hills, and solemn woods imbued
The gazer's spirit with their solitude.
She looked—she looked—not on that quiet scene,
But her eye questioned, with enquiries keen,
Each flying skiff;—at length it fell on one,
'Twas theirs—she knew it—and her fears were gone.—
Onward they came:—the wind was growing strong,
And through the whitening waves they sped along.
Fearless they seemed—in truth, no fears had they;
Nought gave them trouble but the soaking spray.
The wind still gathered force; a gloomy scowl
Passed o'er the sky: there was a sullen howl
And murmur over head; yet, wherefore fear?
The bark flew swiftly, and the port was near.
The mother wept for joy, but—whence that cry?
She looked—she shrieked in horror a reply.
Where was the bark?—'twas gone;—and through the surge
Rose dashing arms—and boats were seen to urge
Their prows amongst them—numbers rushed to save
The plunging sufferers from the whelming wave.
And through the whitening waves they sped along.
Fearless they seemed—in truth, no fears had they;
Nought gave them trouble but the soaking spray.
275
Passed o'er the sky: there was a sullen howl
And murmur over head; yet, wherefore fear?
The bark flew swiftly, and the port was near.
The mother wept for joy, but—whence that cry?
She looked—she shrieked in horror a reply.
Where was the bark?—'twas gone;—and through the surge
Rose dashing arms—and boats were seen to urge
Their prows amongst them—numbers rushed to save
The plunging sufferers from the whelming wave.
There was a gallant swimmer who had been
Sent down amongst them; and he now was seen—
Here, there he sprang, with wondrous power and speed,
Grasping the arm of every one in need.
Still as they rose, his active hand was there;
Still as they sank, he raised them by the hair.
“God's blessing on thee!” with a fearful joy,
Exclaimed the mother—“blessings on my boy!
Ah! my brave Owen! oh! I know thee well!—
Great God preserve them!—this is terrible!”—
Like some feigned native of that element,
Swiftly young Owen through the billows went,
Till every drenched and drooping form seemed laid
Safe in the boats, and not a life was paid;
When, distantly, two young, fair arms were seen
Stretched forth a moment through the billows green.
He bounded towards them,—and they saw them clasp
The swimmer's neck, with a convulsive grasp,
And down they went together!—shrill and high,
From shuddering hearts rung horror's sudden cry.
With one strong impulse towards the place they sprung—
With a wild anguish o'er their boats they hung.
They gazed—they gazed—oh what a pause of dread,
As Hope told o'er the moments ere she fled.
They gazed—they gazed—the whirling waters mocked
Their frenzied eyes—for those two young ones locked
Fast, fast together, through the rushing sea
Had reached the bright strand of eternity.—
Sent down amongst them; and he now was seen—
Here, there he sprang, with wondrous power and speed,
Grasping the arm of every one in need.
Still as they rose, his active hand was there;
Still as they sank, he raised them by the hair.
“God's blessing on thee!” with a fearful joy,
Exclaimed the mother—“blessings on my boy!
Ah! my brave Owen! oh! I know thee well!—
Great God preserve them!—this is terrible!”—
276
Swiftly young Owen through the billows went,
Till every drenched and drooping form seemed laid
Safe in the boats, and not a life was paid;
When, distantly, two young, fair arms were seen
Stretched forth a moment through the billows green.
He bounded towards them,—and they saw them clasp
The swimmer's neck, with a convulsive grasp,
And down they went together!—shrill and high,
From shuddering hearts rung horror's sudden cry.
With one strong impulse towards the place they sprung—
With a wild anguish o'er their boats they hung.
They gazed—they gazed—oh what a pause of dread,
As Hope told o'er the moments ere she fled.
They gazed—they gazed—the whirling waters mocked
Their frenzied eyes—for those two young ones locked
Fast, fast together, through the rushing sea
Had reached the bright strand of eternity.—
Where was that wretched mother?—on the hill
Where she had stood, she lay outstretched and still.
But ah! far more unhappy than the pair
Whelmed in the deeps—she wakened to despair—
To years of sickening grief, and to the woe
Of that dark question—“Why did Owen go?”
Where she had stood, she lay outstretched and still.
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Whelmed in the deeps—she wakened to despair—
To years of sickening grief, and to the woe
Of that dark question—“Why did Owen go?”
| The Desolation of Eyam | |