 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
71
CONNOR, A FRAGMENT,
IN TWO CANTOS.
Dear Philanthropy! first-born of Heaven! whatever my sufferings in this giddy world, never do thou forsake this bosom. I listen the child of sorrow's tale, and thou whisperest to me in a soothing voice, “Haste, dry the scalding tear, and bid the rose of joy banish the sickly lily of despair.”
CANTO THE FIRST.
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1
Night had drawn her sable curtain,Some three hours across the plain;
From the hills the blast was raging,
And in torrents fell the rain;
Grey in years, and grey in sorrow,
At a cabin in the vale,
Dermot, trembling o'er the threshold,
Sigh'd, and told his broken tale.
2
“Wet and weary, dull and dreary,Home or comfort none have I;
On the dark heath long I've wander'd,
Not one star illumes the sky:
The cheering blaze that gilds this cottage,
Gave a ray of hope to me;
O shield an old man from the tempest!
Heav'n still smiles on charity.”
74
3
“Welcome!” cried a manly cottar,“Welcome to this lowly shed!”
“Mercy on thee!” said his fair one,
“Thou shalt share our board and bed!
Age and trouble's bow'd thee double;
Whiten'd locks thy years proclaim;
Food and fire will quick revive thee,
But, O say from whence you came?”
4
“I'm a wand'rer, dame believe me,Heedless where I bend my way;
Now I sigh thro' gloomy vallies,
Now o'er craggy mountains stray:
Oft driv'n from the stately mansion;
Oft partaking with the poor;
Sometimes in an out-house resting;
Sometimes wretched on a moor.
5
“How dare man, e'en sunk in sadness,Blame the fix'd decrees of God!
For me, tho' ofttimes driv'n to madness,
Still resign'd, I kiss the rod:
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Who wou'd change their lot with mine—
Heav'n has blessings for each mortal,
Never let me then repine.
6
“Life is but a vale of sorrow;Fleeting joys awhile we prize;
Comfort now from Hope we borrow;
Now the syren from us flies:
Now we bow to pow'r, to riches;
These, alas! the mind deceive;
But at length experience teaches,
Virtue only bliss can give.
7
“Since the blood-stain'd fiend, Rebellion,Stalk'd this dear-lov'd country round,
I have dreamt of days departed,
Nought but mis'ry have I found:
Oft, alas! I'm reft of reason;
Ah! how happy then am I!
These dim eyes have done with weeping,
Sorrow's fountains are run dry.
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8
“The faithful mistress of this bosomLong has moulder'd with the dead;
I had friends, who smiling met me,
Some are fall'n, and others fled:
Busy memory, why distract me?
Turn no more to manhood's joys;
Greatest treasures, dearest pleasures,
In a moment fate destroys.
9
“Half my life the sport of fortune,Hopes I must not cherish here;
Bent with age, its pains increasing,
Man hath little left to fear:
Stranger, wheresoe'er I wander,
Kindred, friends, from me are torn;
Yet, ev'n thus, a voice of soothing,
Cries, “Man was not made to mourn!”
10
“I'd a cabin, seat of comfort,Where ne'er poor man ask'd in vain;
Eager to diffuse each blessing,
Eager to allay each pain:
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Shar'd my coarse but wholesome fare;
Oft I saw the tear of pleasure,
Oft I heard the earnest pray'r.
11
“It was more than palace to me;There with health I hail'd the day;
From the seat of happy childhood,
Nought cou'd tempt me far to stray:
Years returning gave new blessings;
Joyous, where I first drew breath;
There, in peace, had dwelt my fathers,
There, I hop'd to welcome death.
12
“I had fields, I lov'd them dearly;I had sons for me who toil'd;
Heav'n a daughter kindly gave me,
Blooming like a rose-bud wild.
Fiends of Hell soon burnt my cottage,
Where youth's happy years were spent;
Worse than fiends deflower'd my daughter,
And to Heav'n that angel sent.
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13
“Sixteen Summers on the mountains,Scarce had danc'd the hours away;
Till to earth we weeping bore her
Fall'n to villain man a prey!
Pow'r Supreme, who knew my feelings,
Knew the murd'rers I forgave,
How can man, thy image boasting,
E'er forget—'Tis sweet to save?
14
“Yet, methinks I see her dying,That was life's severest shock;
—Ah! how cou'd ye spare her father?
Mercy did his grief but mock!
The last words she feebly utter'd,
Seem'd a pray'r to Heav'n for me;
Bud of promise, early blighted,
Had I bow'd to earth with thee!
15
“Shed not for me tears of sorrow;Bitter pangs I'd yet to feel;
My two manly sons were slaughter'd,
By th' assassin's reeking steel!
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Freedom tho' they dearly lov'd,
Dark suspicion saw them virtuous;
Such foul deeds stern Pow'r approv'd.
16
“But my William! youngest, dearest,Doom'd in foreign climes to mourn!
Exil'd youth! perhaps unpitied;
Ne'er, ah! ne'er canst thou return!
Durst I ask of God one blessing,
On thee I would feast mine eye;
Then forgetful of life's troubles,
Connor soon in peace would die!
17
“Tow'rds the fields I till'd, delighted,At to-morrow's dawn I'll bend;
And trace the hill were stood my cottage;
Ev'ry tree will seem a friend.
From the sod that wraps her mother,
Near were murder'd Mary lies,
Nought on earth, I've sworn, shall tear me,
Till death close my aching eyes!”
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18
Wildly gaz'd the cottar, sighing;Oft in vain he strove to speak;
Strong emotions tore his bosom;
Manly tears bedew'd his cheeks:
“Sorrow's victim,” soft he utter'd,
“Heav'n has heard thy fervent pray'r;
Mark thy son who bows before thee;
Henceforth thou shalt be our care.
19
“Long-lost parent now I've found thee,Never, never more we'll part!
This lov'd wife thy age will nourish,
Watch thee, with a feeling heart!
Lambs at rest, shall each, when waking,
Bless a grandsire with a kiss.”—
“Heav'nly Father! let us thank thee,
For this scene of unhop'd bliss!”
END OF CANTO FIRST.
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82
83
CANTO THE SECOND.
1
O'er the fruitful vales of ErinGlanc'd the broad-fac'd god of day;
Cottars to their early labour,
Whistl'd trifling cares away:
Plenty wav'd her golden treasure,
Blest reward for human toil;
Nought was heard but joyous pleasure,
Nought was seen but nature's smile.
2
Redbreasts, sweet domestic songsters,Hymn'd with joy the grey-ey'd morn;
Dew drops spangl'd hedge and meadow,
Glisten'd on the bending corn:
Near the mill, his females round him,
Stately strode brisk chanticleer;
From lone cot and busy village,
Rural sounds burst on the ear.
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3
Happy Isle! all isles excelling,Little known, tho' much despis'd,
Where contentment rules each dwelling,
And domestic bliss is priz'd;
Hospitality, delighted,
Smiles benignant o'er thy plains;
While by Shamrock wreathes united,
Honour marks thy hardy swains.
4
Ne'er may foreign foes deceive thee,Isle that boasts the wise and brave;
Ne'er that dauntless spirit leave thee
Ling'ring to a coward's grave!
While thy sons in ev'ry danger,
Pour destruction on each foe,
May thy daughters from a stranger
Ne'er receive a cup of woe!)
5
Such the time, when William, rising,Pour'd to Heav'n his daily pray'r;
While the partner of his bosom,
Trimm'd the hearth with thrifty care:
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On poor Dermot's aged cheek;
Fearful to disturb his slumbers,
Oft they would, but durst not speak.
6
Blest with two sweet buds of promise,Pictures fair of roseate health,
Pledges of each fond affection,
Dearer far to both than wealth;
Many a glance towards the stranger,
Did they give, with asking eyes;
Eager for a grandsire's blessing,
Anxious to behold him rise.
7
“Sleep, thou soother of dejection,Nature's balm for ev'ry woe,
Health's restorer, care's beguiler,
All our joys to thee we owe;
Dear to him who rules a palace;
Dear to him who bows a slave;
Dearer to the son of sorrow,
Than all wealth or pow'r e'er gave!”
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8
Thus reflected William, sighing,O'er the author of his birth;
Rapt in mute attention near him,
Wonder check'd the children's mirth:
From his cheek, unmark'd by wrinkles,
Oft he wip'd the tear of joy;
Doubtful that new scenes of anguish
Wou'd each bud of hope destroy.
9
Dermot rose, with hands uplifted,Thankful for the light of day;
“Where, where am I!” sigh'd he feebly,
“Do these eyes my mind betray?
Ah! no! no! my William's near me,
With the thought reviv'd I seem;
This repays long years of suffering,
And the past seems all a dream!
10
“Thou, my daughter, may misfortuneNe'er thro' life once bow thy head!
Sweet thy welcome to the stranger,
—“Thou shallt share our board and bed!”
87
While a smile of joy was giv'n,
Such as marks a pitying angel,
When the wretched enter Heav'n.
11
Soon prepar'd, the wholesome breakfastSusan places; with a smile,
Each intreats the feeble father,
Each his cares wou'd fain beguile:
Kissing oft the mother's image,
Blessing oft the blooming boy,
Sighs now stifle words half utter'd,
Now he sheds the tear of joy.
12
Much he long'd to quit the cottage;Anxious ere the evening hour,
To mark the grave that hides his partner,
And his Mary, luckless flow'r!
There the aged man oft wander'd,
And a vent to sorrow gave,
There on happy days oft ponder'd,
Weeping o'er each well-known grave.
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13
Susan saw the father, husband,Climb the steep hills rugged brow;
Oft they turn, and gaze enraptur'd,
On the whiten'd cot below:
William's arm his sire supported,
Winding many a hill and dale—
'Neath a spreading beech tree resting,
Thus the son relates his tale.
14
“Father, since with thee I parted,I have felt of woes my share;
From the treach'rous foe oft skulking,
Wand'ring, scarcely knowing where:
For my yet-lov'd bleeding country,
Never once afraid to die;
Guiltless prov'd, and still undaunted,
Pow'r, not justice, bade me fly.
15
“Oh! 'twas hard to quit the valley,And each scene dear to the heart;
Harder still to lose my fair one,
When she utter'd—‘Must we part?
89
Fairer dames thou may'st pursue;
Robb'd of thee, poor orphan Susan
Will to pleasure bid adieu!'
16
“All the pangs of grief at parting,When two hearts in union join,
Bound by love, and urg'd by virtue,
All these pangs of grief were mine.
Forc'd on board, with many a brother,
Nought of joy, alas! remain'd,
Tho' my mind ne'er vice had cherish'd,
Nor my hand with blood was stain'd.
17
“When the star of morning beaming,Signal gave of day's bright dawn,
Oft I trac'd the deck dejected,
Mus'd on joys forever flown;
Or when murky tempests lower'd,
Drenching my weak shiv'ring frame,
I wou'd pray for thee, my father,
Sigh, and think myself to blame.
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18
“Borne across the wide Atlantic,Friendless, wretched, doom'd to pine;
Days of ceaseless toil and anguish,
Nights of mis'ry long were mine:
Still a ray of hope smil'd on me,
When my weary toil was o'er,
Oft I climb'd the highest mountain,
Oft I gaz'd tow'rds Erin's shore.
19
“Fancy, various pictures painting,Sometimes fill'd my heart with grief;
Sometimes in a sportive humour,
Gave my wounded mind relief:
When the shades of night clos'd round me,
Forc'd to seek my wretched home,
I'd no friend to bid me welcome,
Tho' by toil, by thought o'ercome.
20
“Spirits ebbing, health decaying,Life seem'd drawing near its close;
One dear comrade driv'n from Erin,
Brought my aching heart repose;
91
Liv'd for William, fond and true;
But the transient gleam quick vanish'd,
When no tidings came from you.
21
“Long I shar'd his liberal bounty,He my guardian angel prov'd,
Till the time rejoicing exiles
Sought the homes and friends they lov'd:
He it was to Erin brought me,
Plac'd me on our little farm;
Gave to me the maid endearing,
Thus had life yet pow'r to charm.
22
“Need I mention Cormac to thee?Him I found this man of worth —”
Dermot hung his head deep sighing,
This call'd many a sorrow forth.
Cormac sought the hand of Mary;
Love smil'd on the happy pair:
Man to-day each pleasure tasting,
Mourns to-morrow joys that were.
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23
“Father, I'll no more distress thee,With the hardships I endur'd;
Meek religion ne'er forsook me,
When to ev'ry ill inur'd:
Changes wish'd in war-spoil'd Erin,
Brought safe o'er thy long-lost son;
Time restor'd my welcome father—
God is just!—His will be done!”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |