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235
SIMPLE TALES.
I.
What are they bringing to this grave,
O Sexton pale and old?
What blossom white, or blasted root,
Must underlie this mould?
Hark to the bell!—I cannot tell:
We dig the grave, and ring the knell.
O Sexton pale and old?
What blossom white, or blasted root,
Must underlie this mould?
Hark to the bell!—I cannot tell:
We dig the grave, and ring the knell.
If you must ask—that married pair,
That move so stiff and sad,
With snow-flakes thickening in their hair,
In new-dyed sables clad;
The kerchief busy at their eyes,
That way, methinks, the burthen lies.
That move so stiff and sad,
With snow-flakes thickening in their hair,
In new-dyed sables clad;
The kerchief busy at their eyes,
That way, methinks, the burthen lies.
236
In yonder moss-clad church, their pew
Showed once a gracious child,
A laughing imp of rosy hue
In glee and mischief wild.
To manhood grown, he went away,
Returning in an evil day.
Showed once a gracious child,
A laughing imp of rosy hue
In glee and mischief wild.
To manhood grown, he went away,
Returning in an evil day.
“Ho, rascals!” cries he, “take my beast;
Haste there, and let me in;
My father keeps a sorry feast,
My mother's sour and thin.
I've come to change their ways a bit;
Fetch brandy, fill a bumper fit!
Haste there, and let me in;
My father keeps a sorry feast,
My mother's sour and thin.
I've come to change their ways a bit;
Fetch brandy, fill a bumper fit!
Squire, I have debts in yonder town;
I fling the careless card;
My tradesmen press their bills, and frown;
My creditors are hard.
This world is not a mother's breast,
No cradle, for a babe to rest.”
I fling the careless card;
My tradesmen press their bills, and frown;
My creditors are hard.
This world is not a mother's breast,
No cradle, for a babe to rest.”
237
The mother scans him in the light
Of the oriel deep and wide.
Where are those curls and dimples bright,
The cheek, her blushing pride?
Whose touch could smooth that tangled hair,
Now knotted, like a snaky snare?
Of the oriel deep and wide.
Where are those curls and dimples bright,
The cheek, her blushing pride?
Whose touch could smooth that tangled hair,
Now knotted, like a snaky snare?
Nor this the worst: the bloodshot eye;
The voice of scoffing tone;
The lips unsteady, that defy
The pleading of her own.
In grief she struggles and sinks down:
He answers with a sullen frown.
The voice of scoffing tone;
The lips unsteady, that defy
The pleading of her own.
In grief she struggles and sinks down:
He answers with a sullen frown.
The unwilling gold is quickly brought,
And, silent, counted out;
The seeker has the boon he sought,
And flushing turns about.
The mother speaks not to deplore;
The father whispers, “Come no more.
And, silent, counted out;
The seeker has the boon he sought,
And flushing turns about.
The mother speaks not to deplore;
The father whispers, “Come no more.
238
Your sister's portion here you take,
Your mother's jointure too:
Though all were beggared for your sake,
It would not furnish you.”
“Oh! take it all,” the mother cries,
And follows him with streaming eyes.
Your mother's jointure too:
Though all were beggared for your sake,
It would not furnish you.”
“Oh! take it all,” the mother cries,
And follows him with streaming eyes.
I know this only, since that time
A year or so has past.
But seeds of misery and crime
Ripen unearthly fast.
The Hall's entailed, that cannot go;
But there they keep with little show.
A year or so has past.
But seeds of misery and crime
Ripen unearthly fast.
The Hall's entailed, that cannot go;
But there they keep with little show.
And when I heard, three days agone,
A young man at the inn
Had, desperate, shut himself alone,
And died the death of sin,
I said, “The Squire has lost his son;
Wife, there's a grave must be begun.”
A young man at the inn
Had, desperate, shut himself alone,
And died the death of sin,
I said, “The Squire has lost his son;
Wife, there's a grave must be begun.”
239
How came this? through some hidden vein
Of wildness in the blood,
That penitence and deadly pain
Could turn him not to good:
So, when his drunken fury went,
He might not bear his ill-content.
Of wildness in the blood,
That penitence and deadly pain
Could turn him not to good:
So, when his drunken fury went,
He might not bear his ill-content.
Old man with burning eyes and hair
Like ashes over flame,
Look not too sternly on the heir
Of deeper than thy name:
Thy fiery youth, its guilt, its gains,
Ran their traditions in his veins.
Like ashes over flame,
Look not too sternly on the heir
Of deeper than thy name:
Thy fiery youth, its guilt, its gains,
Ran their traditions in his veins.
Nor wanted he an angel friend;
Still in his clouded eyes,
With hope and promise run to end,
His mother's look would rise,
So prayer might bless his parting breath,
And faith, long banished, come in death.
Still in his clouded eyes,
With hope and promise run to end,
His mother's look would rise,
So prayer might bless his parting breath,
And faith, long banished, come in death.
240
II.
He loved her long through grief and pain,
As long she loved another.
Life was to him her sole domain;
He was to her a brother.
As long she loved another.
Life was to him her sole domain;
He was to her a brother.
When well of love he urged and spake,
Tears on her eyelids glistened;
The heart his wooing strove to wake
Forsook him while she listened.
Tears on her eyelids glistened;
The heart his wooing strove to wake
Forsook him while she listened.
Thus in a mutual twofold search
Each deeper led the other.
She was his wealth, his law, his church;
He was to her a brother.
Each deeper led the other.
She was his wealth, his law, his church;
He was to her a brother.
241
God took him in his early years,
Ere half his youth had flowered.
Then she beheld him through her tears
With the heart's saints embowered.
Ere half his youth had flowered.
Then she beheld him through her tears
With the heart's saints embowered.
Time on her heart's high daring smiled,
A blooming bridal made her,
And, clinging to a three-hours' child,
In the low furrow laid her.
A blooming bridal made her,
And, clinging to a three-hours' child,
In the low furrow laid her.
But to my sight doth crowned appear
Each faithful, fond endeavor:
Ralph called her his, one happy year;
And Herbert, his forever.
Each faithful, fond endeavor:
Ralph called her his, one happy year;
And Herbert, his forever.
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