 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
236
THE MOURNER.
Wheels o'er the pavement roll'd, and a slight form
Just in the bud of blushing womanhood
Reached the paternal threshold. Wrathful night
Muffled the timid stars, and rain-drops hung
On that fair creature's rich and glossy curls.
Just in the bud of blushing womanhood
Reached the paternal threshold. Wrathful night
Muffled the timid stars, and rain-drops hung
On that fair creature's rich and glossy curls.
She stood and shiver'd, but no mother's hand
Dry'd those damp tresses, and with warm caress
Sustain'd the weary spirit. No, that hand
Was with the cold, dull earth-worm.
Dry'd those damp tresses, and with warm caress
Sustain'd the weary spirit. No, that hand
Was with the cold, dull earth-worm.
Gray and sad,
The tottering nurse rose up; and that old man,
The soldier servant, who had train'd the steeds
Of her slain brothers for the battle field,
Essay'd to lead her to the couch of pain,
Where her sick father pined.
The tottering nurse rose up; and that old man,
The soldier servant, who had train'd the steeds
Of her slain brothers for the battle field,
Essay'd to lead her to the couch of pain,
Where her sick father pined.
Oft had he yearn'd
For her sweet presence; oft, in midnight's watch
Mus'd of his dear one's smile, till dreams restor'd
The dove-like dalliance of her ruby lip
Breathing his woes away.
For her sweet presence; oft, in midnight's watch
Mus'd of his dear one's smile, till dreams restor'd
The dove-like dalliance of her ruby lip
Breathing his woes away.
While distant far,
She, patient student, bending o'er her tasks,
Toil'd for the fruits of knowledge, treasuring still
In the heart's casket, a fond father's smile,
And the pure music of his welcome home,
Rich payment of her labours.
She, patient student, bending o'er her tasks,
Toil'd for the fruits of knowledge, treasuring still
In the heart's casket, a fond father's smile,
And the pure music of his welcome home,
Rich payment of her labours.
But there came
A summons of surprise, and on the wings
Of filial love she hasted.
—'Twas too late:
The lamp of life still burn'd, yet 'twas too late.
The mind had passed away, and who could call
Its wing from out the sky?
A summons of surprise, and on the wings
237
—'Twas too late:
The lamp of life still burn'd, yet 'twas too late.
The mind had passed away, and who could call
Its wing from out the sky?
For the embrace
Of strong idolatry, was but the glare
Of a fix'd, vacant eye. Disease had dealt
A fell assassin's blow. Oh God! the blight
That fell on those fresh hopes, when all in vain
The passive hand was grasp'd, and the wide halls
Re-echoed “father! father!”
Of strong idolatry, was but the glare
Of a fix'd, vacant eye. Disease had dealt
A fell assassin's blow. Oh God! the blight
That fell on those fresh hopes, when all in vain
The passive hand was grasp'd, and the wide halls
Re-echoed “father! father!”
Through the shades
Of that long silent night, she sleepless bent,
Bathing with tireless hand the unmoved brow,
And the death-pillow smoothing. When fair morn
Came with its rose-tint up, she shrieking clasp'd
Her hands in joy, for its reviving ray
Flush'd that worn brow, as if with one brief trace
Of waken'd intellect. 'Twas seeming all:
And Hope's fond vision faded as the day
Rode on in glory.
Of that long silent night, she sleepless bent,
Bathing with tireless hand the unmoved brow,
And the death-pillow smoothing. When fair morn
Came with its rose-tint up, she shrieking clasp'd
Her hands in joy, for its reviving ray
Flush'd that worn brow, as if with one brief trace
Of waken'd intellect. 'Twas seeming all:
And Hope's fond vision faded as the day
Rode on in glory.
Eve her curtain drew,
And found that pale and beautiful watcher there,
Still unreposing. Restless on his couch
Toss'd the sick man. Cold Lethargy had steep'd
Its last dead poppy in his heart's red stream,
And agony was stirring Nature up
To struggle with her foe.
And found that pale and beautiful watcher there,
Still unreposing. Restless on his couch
Toss'd the sick man. Cold Lethargy had steep'd
Its last dead poppy in his heart's red stream,
And agony was stirring Nature up
To struggle with her foe.
238
“Father in Heaven!
Oh, let him sleep!”—sigh'd an imploring voice;
And then she ran to hush the measur'd tick
Of the dull night-clock, and to scare the owl
That clinging to the casement hoarsely pour'd
A boding note. But soon from that lone couch
Thick-coming groans announce the foe that strikes
But once.
Oh, let him sleep!”—sigh'd an imploring voice;
And then she ran to hush the measur'd tick
Of the dull night-clock, and to scare the owl
That clinging to the casement hoarsely pour'd
A boding note. But soon from that lone couch
Thick-coming groans announce the foe that strikes
But once.
They bare the fainting girl away;
And paler than that ashen corse, her face,
Half by a flood of ebon tresses hid,
Droop'd o'er her nurse's shoulder. It was sad
To see a young heart breaking, while the old
Sank down to rest.
And paler than that ashen corse, her face,
Half by a flood of ebon tresses hid,
Droop'd o'er her nurse's shoulder. It was sad
To see a young heart breaking, while the old
Sank down to rest.
There was another change.
The mournful bell toll'd out the funeral hour,
And groups came gathering to the gate where stood
The sable hearse. Friends throng'd with heavy heart,
And curious villagers, intent to scan
The lordly mansion, and cold worldly men,
Even o'er the coffin and the warning shroud
Revolving selfish schemes.
The mournful bell toll'd out the funeral hour,
And groups came gathering to the gate where stood
The sable hearse. Friends throng'd with heavy heart,
And curious villagers, intent to scan
The lordly mansion, and cold worldly men,
Even o'er the coffin and the warning shroud
Revolving selfish schemes.
But one was there,
To whom all earth could render nothing back,
Like that pale piece of clay. Calmly she stood
As marble statue. Not one trickling tear,
Or quivering of the eye-lid, told she liv'd,
Or tasted sorrow. The old house-dog came,
Pressing his rough head to her snowy palm,
All unreprov'd.
To whom all earth could render nothing back,
Like that pale piece of clay. Calmly she stood
As marble statue. Not one trickling tear,
Or quivering of the eye-lid, told she liv'd,
Or tasted sorrow. The old house-dog came,
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All unreprov'd.
He for his master mourn'd.
And could she spurn that faithful friend, who oft
His shaggy length thro' many a fireside hour
Stretch'd at her father's feet? who round his bed
Of sickness watch'd with wakeful, wondering eye
Of changeless sympathy? No, round his neck
Her infant arms had clasp'd, and still he rais'd
His noble front beside her, proud to guard
The last, lov'd relic of his master's house.
And could she spurn that faithful friend, who oft
His shaggy length thro' many a fireside hour
Stretch'd at her father's feet? who round his bed
Of sickness watch'd with wakeful, wondering eye
Of changeless sympathy? No, round his neck
Her infant arms had clasp'd, and still he rais'd
His noble front beside her, proud to guard
The last, lov'd relic of his master's house.
The deadly calmness of that mourner's brow
Was a deep riddle to the lawless thought
Of whispering gossips. Of her sire they spake,
Who suffer'd not the winds of heaven to touch
The tresses of his darling, and who dream'd
In the warm passion of his heart's sole love
She was a mate for angels. Bold they gaz'd
Upon her tearless cheek, and murmuring said,
“How strange that he should be so lightly mourn'd.”
Was a deep riddle to the lawless thought
Of whispering gossips. Of her sire they spake,
Who suffer'd not the winds of heaven to touch
The tresses of his darling, and who dream'd
In the warm passion of his heart's sole love
She was a mate for angels. Bold they gaz'd
Upon her tearless cheek, and murmuring said,
“How strange that he should be so lightly mourn'd.”
Oh woman! oft misconstrued! the pure pearls
Lie all too deep in thy heart's secret well,
For the unpausing and impatient hand
To win them forth. In that meek maiden's breast
Sorrow and loneliness sank darkly down,
Though the blanch'd lip breath'd out no boisterous plain
Of common grief.
Lie all too deep in thy heart's secret well,
For the unpausing and impatient hand
To win them forth. In that meek maiden's breast
Sorrow and loneliness sank darkly down,
Though the blanch'd lip breath'd out no boisterous plain
Of common grief.
240
Even on to life's decline,
Amid the giddy round of prosperous years,
The birth of new affections, and the joys
That cluster round earth's favourites, there walk'd
Still at her side, the image of her sire,
As in that hour when his cold glazing eye
Met her's, and knew her not. When her full cup
Perchance had foam'd with pride, that icy glance,
Checking its effervescence, taught her soul
The chasten'd wisdom of attemper'd bliss.
Amid the giddy round of prosperous years,
The birth of new affections, and the joys
That cluster round earth's favourites, there walk'd
Still at her side, the image of her sire,
As in that hour when his cold glazing eye
Met her's, and knew her not. When her full cup
Perchance had foam'd with pride, that icy glance,
Checking its effervescence, taught her soul
The chasten'd wisdom of attemper'd bliss.
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |