 | Poems by the author of The Village Curate |  |
Elmer and Ophelia.
---teneros animos aliena approbria sæpè
Absterrent vitiis.
Hor.
Absterrent vitiis.
Hor.
1
In the warm bosom of a tufted vale,
A little journey from a country town,
Stood Elmer's house, a man of worth and wealth.
Aged he was, and had an only niece,
Her name Ophelia. She an orphan was,
And her dead parents left her to the care
Of gen'rous Elmer. Well had he discharg'd
The guardian's office, and the friendless child
Lov'd as his own. He gave her all she wish'd,
He sent her to the ball, the play, the rout,
The concert; well content to live alone
While she was happy with the gay and young.
Ophelia's friends were welcome to his roof,
Were welcome to his board. He gave her books,
He gave her music, and he fill'd her purse.
A little journey from a country town,
Stood Elmer's house, a man of worth and wealth.
Aged he was, and had an only niece,
Her name Ophelia. She an orphan was,
And her dead parents left her to the care
Of gen'rous Elmer. Well had he discharg'd
The guardian's office, and the friendless child
Lov'd as his own. He gave her all she wish'd,
He sent her to the ball, the play, the rout,
The concert; well content to live alone
While she was happy with the gay and young.
Ophelia's friends were welcome to his roof,
2
He gave her music, and he fill'd her purse.
But she was not content. Her sickly mind
Was ill at ease, though seated on the throne
Of affluence and plenty. She could see
Another's happiness was thrice her own,
And she had little reason to rejoice,
Cut off from sweet society, and lost
To all but Elmer. He was old and grave.
He little relish'd the gay mood of youth,
And she as little relish'd his. She sigh'd
From morn to noon, from noon to latest night,
From night to morn. The good man saw concern'd,
But sought the reason of her grief in vain.
She pin'd and he was sad.
Was ill at ease, though seated on the throne
Of affluence and plenty. She could see
Another's happiness was thrice her own,
And she had little reason to rejoice,
Cut off from sweet society, and lost
To all but Elmer. He was old and grave.
He little relish'd the gay mood of youth,
And she as little relish'd his. She sigh'd
From morn to noon, from noon to latest night,
From night to morn. The good man saw concern'd,
But sought the reason of her grief in vain.
She pin'd and he was sad.
Mean-time the ball
Returning monthly drew her to the town.
A stranger saw her, and she won his heart.
He gain'd access, and led her to the dance.
An officer he was, and she was pleas'd
To win a hero. Many a flatt'ring speech
He made, and sooth'd her too-attentive ear.
For he had heard of Elmer's wealth and age,
And knew Ophelia was an only niece.
He too was poor. The gamester's rattling box
And the dear pleasures of a tawdry miss
Had left him nothing. With a soldier's care
He plan'd the conquest of Ophelia's heart
And won it. With reluctance she withdrew
To Elmer's lonely house, disgusted more
At solitude and him.
Returning monthly drew her to the town.
A stranger saw her, and she won his heart.
3
An officer he was, and she was pleas'd
To win a hero. Many a flatt'ring speech
He made, and sooth'd her too-attentive ear.
For he had heard of Elmer's wealth and age,
And knew Ophelia was an only niece.
He too was poor. The gamester's rattling box
And the dear pleasures of a tawdry miss
Had left him nothing. With a soldier's care
He plan'd the conquest of Ophelia's heart
And won it. With reluctance she withdrew
To Elmer's lonely house, disgusted more
At solitude and him.
Next morn she rose,
And seated at the board ere Elmer came
In thoughtful posture lean'd. Her eager mind
Retrac'd the pleasures of the ev'ning ball.
She heard the voice of flattery and love,
She press'd the hand of her enamour'd youth.
Then of her uncle's lone abode she thought,
And what was here to please? an old gray man
Who found no pleasure in the joys of youth,
A solitary walk, dry books, grave words,
While mirth and transport sought the town alone.
So lost in thought she wept, till unperceiv'd
Her uncle came, and found her all in tears.
Griev'd was his heart, and at her side he sat
Intreating whence the cause of so much woe.
He wish'd her happy, and his utmost pow'r
Should be exerted to content her. She
Abash'd and disconcerted, not a word
Deign'd in reply. So silently they sat,
And drank their morning's tea.
And seated at the board ere Elmer came
In thoughtful posture lean'd. Her eager mind
Retrac'd the pleasures of the ev'ning ball.
She heard the voice of flattery and love,
She press'd the hand of her enamour'd youth.
4
And what was here to please? an old gray man
Who found no pleasure in the joys of youth,
A solitary walk, dry books, grave words,
While mirth and transport sought the town alone.
So lost in thought she wept, till unperceiv'd
Her uncle came, and found her all in tears.
Griev'd was his heart, and at her side he sat
Intreating whence the cause of so much woe.
He wish'd her happy, and his utmost pow'r
Should be exerted to content her. She
Abash'd and disconcerted, not a word
Deign'd in reply. So silently they sat,
And drank their morning's tea.
The clock strikes ten,
The hall re-echoes with a double rap.
John enters to announce the guest. Who comes?
An officer enquiring for Ophelia,
The gentleman she danc'd with, and he hopes
She finds no inconvenience from the ball.
Ophelia's heart reviv'd. Her countenance
Was bright and cheerful as an autumn sky,
When after a long night of gloom and rain
The fleecy clouds dispart, and the clear sun
Mounts to his noon rejoicing. With a smile
She welcom'd her gay spark, she shook his hand,
And introduc'd him. Elmer was rejoic'd
To see the happy change his presence wrought,
And bade him welcome. One short hour he sat
And heard Ophelia's never-ceasing tongue
Pour out its soft allurement. Mute was he,
And all compliance with her smart remark;
Yet wanted not sweet smiles and oily words
At intervals thrown in, to bind her heart
Nothing suspicious in the chains of love.
His artful aim experienc'd Elmer saw,
Observ'd Ophelia by his words and smiles
Led captive, and withdrew to think of means
Might best defeat his mischievous intent.
The hall re-echoes with a double rap.
John enters to announce the guest. Who comes?
An officer enquiring for Ophelia,
The gentleman she danc'd with, and he hopes
5
Ophelia's heart reviv'd. Her countenance
Was bright and cheerful as an autumn sky,
When after a long night of gloom and rain
The fleecy clouds dispart, and the clear sun
Mounts to his noon rejoicing. With a smile
She welcom'd her gay spark, she shook his hand,
And introduc'd him. Elmer was rejoic'd
To see the happy change his presence wrought,
And bade him welcome. One short hour he sat
And heard Ophelia's never-ceasing tongue
Pour out its soft allurement. Mute was he,
And all compliance with her smart remark;
Yet wanted not sweet smiles and oily words
At intervals thrown in, to bind her heart
Nothing suspicious in the chains of love.
His artful aim experienc'd Elmer saw,
Observ'd Ophelia by his words and smiles
Led captive, and withdrew to think of means
Might best defeat his mischievous intent.
6
Then was Ophelia's tongue without restraint;
She told him all her hardships and her wants.
He heard and pitied, sigh'd, and from his eye
Wip'd an extorted tear. He took her hand
And whisper'd all his wish. Her heart was lost.
With eager transport she embrac'd the terms
Of speedy wedlock to a man unknown.
That night she offer'd to elope. But he
Lov'd more her uncle's fortune than his niece,
And pray'd her to request the good man's leave.
She scarce consents; and now, her lover gone,
Sits down to meditate what form of words
May best unfold her purpose. Elmer comes.
He needs not information whom she loves,
Or who loves most sincere. In her sad eye
He reads the lover, in her words and looks.
He saw the villain too in him she lov'd,
And pitied her whose undiscerning eye
Might prove the snare of innocence and peace.
He sat beside her and began discourse.
He question'd her of matters not remote
From love and him she lov'd, purpos'd to learn
What she would fain disclose. He ask'd how long
The brilliant stranger had been known at town,
And who he was, and whence. She nothing knew.
‘And yet,’ said Elmer, ‘if my eye be just,
‘He bears no small proportion of thy love.’
She told him all her hardships and her wants.
He heard and pitied, sigh'd, and from his eye
Wip'd an extorted tear. He took her hand
And whisper'd all his wish. Her heart was lost.
With eager transport she embrac'd the terms
Of speedy wedlock to a man unknown.
That night she offer'd to elope. But he
Lov'd more her uncle's fortune than his niece,
And pray'd her to request the good man's leave.
She scarce consents; and now, her lover gone,
Sits down to meditate what form of words
May best unfold her purpose. Elmer comes.
He needs not information whom she loves,
Or who loves most sincere. In her sad eye
He reads the lover, in her words and looks.
He saw the villain too in him she lov'd,
And pitied her whose undiscerning eye
Might prove the snare of innocence and peace.
He sat beside her and began discourse.
7
From love and him she lov'd, purpos'd to learn
What she would fain disclose. He ask'd how long
The brilliant stranger had been known at town,
And who he was, and whence. She nothing knew.
‘And yet,’ said Elmer, ‘if my eye be just,
‘He bears no small proportion of thy love.’
‘Yes, said Ophelia, flutter'd and abash'd,
‘He bears no small proportion of my love,
‘He bears it all. This moment as he went
‘He offer'd wedlock, and my heart obeyed.
‘Nothing is wanting but thy free consent
‘To make us one.’
‘He bears no small proportion of my love,
‘He bears it all. This moment as he went
‘He offer'd wedlock, and my heart obeyed.
‘Nothing is wanting but thy free consent
‘To make us one.’
‘Indeed!’ said Elmer, struck
With terror and astonishment. ‘Indeed!
‘Has he so far deceiv'd thee? My dear girl,
‘Retreat betimes, for thy incautious foot
‘Stands on a dreadful precipice. One step
‘May plunge thee in an ocean of distress,
‘And make thee wretched long as life endures,
‘I know the man. I knew his father. He
‘(Divulge it not for shame) was sin itself.
‘A man more wicked never trod the earth,
‘Living on arts of treachery and guile,
‘And spending affluence obtain'd by fraud
‘In plotting ruin to thy thoughtless sex.
‘He practis'd on my sister, and thy aunt,
‘A worthy woman. He ensnar'd her heart.
‘She left her father at the dead of night
‘And fled with him. He promis'd wedlock too.
‘But all his purpose was to draw her thence
‘Where succour was at hand; and his vile arts
‘Were too successful. To the north he flew
‘Triumphant with his prey, and left her there
‘Seduc'd and ruin'd. To her father's house
‘She dar'd not come again for shame. He sought
‘But found her not, for she evaded search
‘By change of clothing, and a borrow'd name.
‘She pawn'd her watch, her jewels, and her clothes.
‘She beg'd from door to door, the live-long day
‘Spending in hunger and the night in tears.
‘Till wand'ring barefoot thro' a market town,
‘In silent sorrow at a rich man's door
‘Claiming relief, an angry mob came round,
‘Seiz'd her half-spent, and to the parish bounds
‘Whip'd as a vagrant. With a breaking heart
‘Feeble and faint she reach'd a neighb'ring barn,
‘Pour'd out a steady curse (and not in vain,
‘For he was hang'd for murder) upon him
‘The author of her grief, fell down, and died:
‘And unlamented at the parish cost
‘Was poorly buried. And shalt thou, my child,
‘For such I deem thee, and thy tender heart
‘Knows my affection, and has ever found me
‘Kind as a father—shalt thou wed a man
‘The son of him who murder'd thy poor aunt?
‘O no, forbid it Heaven.
With terror and astonishment. ‘Indeed!
‘Has he so far deceiv'd thee? My dear girl,
‘Retreat betimes, for thy incautious foot
‘Stands on a dreadful precipice. One step
8
‘And make thee wretched long as life endures,
‘I know the man. I knew his father. He
‘(Divulge it not for shame) was sin itself.
‘A man more wicked never trod the earth,
‘Living on arts of treachery and guile,
‘And spending affluence obtain'd by fraud
‘In plotting ruin to thy thoughtless sex.
‘He practis'd on my sister, and thy aunt,
‘A worthy woman. He ensnar'd her heart.
‘She left her father at the dead of night
‘And fled with him. He promis'd wedlock too.
‘But all his purpose was to draw her thence
‘Where succour was at hand; and his vile arts
‘Were too successful. To the north he flew
‘Triumphant with his prey, and left her there
‘Seduc'd and ruin'd. To her father's house
‘She dar'd not come again for shame. He sought
‘But found her not, for she evaded search
‘By change of clothing, and a borrow'd name.
9
‘She beg'd from door to door, the live-long day
‘Spending in hunger and the night in tears.
‘Till wand'ring barefoot thro' a market town,
‘In silent sorrow at a rich man's door
‘Claiming relief, an angry mob came round,
‘Seiz'd her half-spent, and to the parish bounds
‘Whip'd as a vagrant. With a breaking heart
‘Feeble and faint she reach'd a neighb'ring barn,
‘Pour'd out a steady curse (and not in vain,
‘For he was hang'd for murder) upon him
‘The author of her grief, fell down, and died:
‘And unlamented at the parish cost
‘Was poorly buried. And shalt thou, my child,
‘For such I deem thee, and thy tender heart
‘Knows my affection, and has ever found me
‘Kind as a father—shalt thou wed a man
‘The son of him who murder'd thy poor aunt?
‘O no, forbid it Heaven.
10
‘Forbid it Heaven,’
Ophelia cried, ‘if in the son be found
‘The parent's vices. But the hapless child
‘May sometimes merit tho' the parent sin.
‘My dearest uncle, must the son be base
‘Because the father was? May he not rather
‘Doubly deserve by being just and good?
‘I cannot think the man is to be shun'd
‘If this be all his trespass. In his soul
‘I trace a thousand virtues, and my heart
‘Is his for ever.’
Ophelia cried, ‘if in the son be found
‘The parent's vices. But the hapless child
‘May sometimes merit tho' the parent sin.
‘My dearest uncle, must the son be base
‘Because the father was? May he not rather
‘Doubly deserve by being just and good?
‘I cannot think the man is to be shun'd
‘If this be all his trespass. In his soul
‘I trace a thousand virtues, and my heart
‘Is his for ever.’
‘Pause a moment, child,’
Said Elmer. ‘Love is blind. Unsafe it were
‘To trust thy judgment here, not knowing aught
‘Of men and manners and of him thou lov'st.
‘Tis ev'ry man's desire to hide his faults,
‘And seem to have the virtues he has not.
‘So he who travels, with a fine disguise
‘Covers his imperfections, and assumes
‘The known appearance of the man of worth.
‘None but the keenest eye, which long has read
‘The artful ways of man, can spy the wolf
‘Thus passing for the lamb. I dare be bold
‘To tell Ophelia that the man she loves,
‘Spite of his seeming tenderness and care,
‘Esteems her not. I watch'd his cool deceit
‘Working in ambush. His alluring smile,
‘His honey'd words, his unembarrass'd air,
‘Were all too little to disguise his heart.
‘And there I saw him, as he surely is,
‘Black as his Father.’
Said Elmer. ‘Love is blind. Unsafe it were
‘To trust thy judgment here, not knowing aught
‘Of men and manners and of him thou lov'st.
‘Tis ev'ry man's desire to hide his faults,
‘And seem to have the virtues he has not.
‘So he who travels, with a fine disguise
‘Covers his imperfections, and assumes
11
‘None but the keenest eye, which long has read
‘The artful ways of man, can spy the wolf
‘Thus passing for the lamb. I dare be bold
‘To tell Ophelia that the man she loves,
‘Spite of his seeming tenderness and care,
‘Esteems her not. I watch'd his cool deceit
‘Working in ambush. His alluring smile,
‘His honey'd words, his unembarrass'd air,
‘Were all too little to disguise his heart.
‘And there I saw him, as he surely is,
‘Black as his Father.’
‘But we judge amiss
Ophelia cried, ‘if thus dear sir, we blame
‘Without exception him whose outward form
‘Seems to betray deceit. For oft we mark
‘That unambitious virtue loves to dwell
‘Where none expects her. He, whose vicious look
‘Seems to foretel an undeserving heart,
‘Is found, by near examination tried,
‘Great in all goodness.
Ophelia cried, ‘if thus dear sir, we blame
‘Without exception him whose outward form
‘Seems to betray deceit. For oft we mark
‘That unambitious virtue loves to dwell
‘Where none expects her. He, whose vicious look
‘Seems to foretel an undeserving heart,
12
‘Great in all goodness.
‘Yes,’ said Elmer, ‘hid
‘Under the covert of a vicious look
‘Most exemplary virtue sometimes dwells—
‘But oft'ner vice. And it were safer far
‘To question goodness where we see it not,
‘Than think a vicious look may always hide
‘Virtue and truth. But here no question needs.
‘The man we speak of has shewn ample proof,
‘And could my eye no treachery perceive,
‘I knew enough of his ill-boding youth
‘To shut my doors against him. Never, child,
‘O never, never let thy heart be lost
To one so ill-deserving.
‘Under the covert of a vicious look
‘Most exemplary virtue sometimes dwells—
‘But oft'ner vice. And it were safer far
‘To question goodness where we see it not,
‘Than think a vicious look may always hide
‘Virtue and truth. But here no question needs.
‘The man we speak of has shewn ample proof,
‘And could my eye no treachery perceive,
‘I knew enough of his ill-boding youth
‘To shut my doors against him. Never, child,
‘O never, never let thy heart be lost
To one so ill-deserving.
‘Yet, good sir,
‘If one so ill deserving win my heart,
‘And give me such assurance of his truth,
‘Such hope of reformation, as contents
‘My warmest wish, 'twere sure no sin to wed.
‘Who knows not worthless rakes have often prov'd
‘The best of husbands and the best of men.
‘Give me the man I love. I ask no more.
‘Repentance shall not follow. And if grief
‘Should spoil the pleasures of my after years,
‘Tis not thy fault but mine.
‘If one so ill deserving win my heart,
‘And give me such assurance of his truth,
13
‘My warmest wish, 'twere sure no sin to wed.
‘Who knows not worthless rakes have often prov'd
‘The best of husbands and the best of men.
‘Give me the man I love. I ask no more.
‘Repentance shall not follow. And if grief
‘Should spoil the pleasures of my after years,
‘Tis not thy fault but mine.
‘My dearest girl,
‘Be not perverse and rash. Incline thine ear
‘To wise experience. If the rake has prov'd,
‘In some rare instance diligently mark'd,
‘The best of husbands and the best of men,
‘'Twas such conversion as the oldest eye
‘Shall hardly see again. 'Tis not in art
‘To make the raven white, to conquer vice
‘Rooted by habit, to compel the man
‘To quit his old propensities, and tread
‘The path of infancy again. The plant
Yields to the finger, but the tree once form'd
‘Defies the giant's arm. Thy feeble hand,
‘With all the charms of mighty love to boot,
‘Shall sooner bend the everlasting oak,
‘Shall sooner stay the fiery Danube's flood,
‘Shall sooner lift old Ocean from his seat,
‘Than turn the villain from the ways of vice.
‘I grant in Woman there is wondrous power,
‘Not the fine tones of Music's self have more,
‘Tho' fabled to have drawn unwilling tears
‘From Hell's hard-hearted monarch, to have hung
‘Smiles of content upon the tortur'd brow,
‘And fill'd the regions of the restless damn'd
‘With ravishment and peace. But not that pow'r,
‘Nor all the pow'r of man shall there prevail
‘Where God's commandment has been heard in vain.’
‘Be not perverse and rash. Incline thine ear
‘To wise experience. If the rake has prov'd,
‘In some rare instance diligently mark'd,
‘The best of husbands and the best of men,
‘'Twas such conversion as the oldest eye
‘Shall hardly see again. 'Tis not in art
‘To make the raven white, to conquer vice
‘Rooted by habit, to compel the man
‘To quit his old propensities, and tread
‘The path of infancy again. The plant
14
‘Defies the giant's arm. Thy feeble hand,
‘With all the charms of mighty love to boot,
‘Shall sooner bend the everlasting oak,
‘Shall sooner stay the fiery Danube's flood,
‘Shall sooner lift old Ocean from his seat,
‘Than turn the villain from the ways of vice.
‘I grant in Woman there is wondrous power,
‘Not the fine tones of Music's self have more,
‘Tho' fabled to have drawn unwilling tears
‘From Hell's hard-hearted monarch, to have hung
‘Smiles of content upon the tortur'd brow,
‘And fill'd the regions of the restless damn'd
‘With ravishment and peace. But not that pow'r,
‘Nor all the pow'r of man shall there prevail
‘Where God's commandment has been heard in vain.’
‘With humble def'rence to your better skill,’
Ophelia said presuming, ‘not a vice
‘Reigns in the bosom of the man I love.’
Ophelia said presuming, ‘not a vice
‘Reigns in the bosom of the man I love.’
15
‘How! not a vice?’ said Elmer. ‘I have said
‘I know him to be vicious. Not a rogue
‘Dies on the gallows who so well deserves
‘Shame and disgrace. By knavery and fraud
‘He lives, sucking advantage from the boy
‘Who inexperienc'd falls into his snare,
‘A surer victim than the captive fly
‘To the full bloated spider.
‘I know him to be vicious. Not a rogue
‘Dies on the gallows who so well deserves
‘Shame and disgrace. By knavery and fraud
‘He lives, sucking advantage from the boy
‘Who inexperienc'd falls into his snare,
‘A surer victim than the captive fly
‘To the full bloated spider.
‘No, he's good,
‘He's just and honest, you mistake the man.
‘He's just and honest, you mistake the man.
‘What,’ said the uncle, ‘does thy tongue deny
‘What I affirm unquestionable truth
‘From constant observation? Hear me then.
‘The hour that sees thee wedded to that man
‘Shall cut thee off from twenty thousand pounds,
‘This house, and this estate. I'll sooner die
‘And leave them to a beggar than to thee.
‘What I affirm unquestionable truth
‘From constant observation? Hear me then.
‘The hour that sees thee wedded to that man
‘Shall cut thee off from twenty thousand pounds,
‘This house, and this estate. I'll sooner die
‘And leave them to a beggar than to thee.
16
‘Then leave them to a beggar,’ said Ophelia.
‘Give me my own, the little opulence
‘My father left, too gen'rous to be rich,
‘And give thy acres to a gipsy's brat.
‘Let some unheard-of heir possess thy house,
‘Thy fortune. I shall be content, tho' Heav'n
‘Assign me to the cottage or the barn,
‘If he I love be with me.’
‘Give me my own, the little opulence
‘My father left, too gen'rous to be rich,
‘And give thy acres to a gipsy's brat.
‘Let some unheard-of heir possess thy house,
‘Thy fortune. I shall be content, tho' Heav'n
‘Assign me to the cottage or the barn,
‘If he I love be with me.’
‘Headstrong girl,’
Said Elmer in a rage. ‘Is this the end
‘Of all my kindness, tenderness and love?
‘O! I repent. I heartily repent.
‘I would it could be all undone. Perverse,
‘Rude, ignorant, ungrateful, thoughtless girl.
‘Was it for this I took thee to my roof,
‘Fed thee and cloth'd thee with a parent's care,
‘Prevented ev'ry want and ev'ry wish,
‘Made thee my daughter, and esteem'd thee more—
‘More than a father? base, O base return.
‘This moment down, and humbly on thy knees
‘Crave my forgiveness, or thy lot is cast
‘Never again beneath this roof to sleep
‘Hence-forward and for ever.’
Said Elmer in a rage. ‘Is this the end
‘Of all my kindness, tenderness and love?
‘O! I repent. I heartily repent.
‘I would it could be all undone. Perverse,
‘Rude, ignorant, ungrateful, thoughtless girl.
‘Was it for this I took thee to my roof,
‘Fed thee and cloth'd thee with a parent's care,
‘Prevented ev'ry want and ev'ry wish,
‘Made thee my daughter, and esteem'd thee more—
‘More than a father? base, O base return.
17
‘Crave my forgiveness, or thy lot is cast
‘Never again beneath this roof to sleep
‘Hence-forward and for ever.’
‘Never again,’
Said insolent Ophelia, ‘do these eyes
‘Wish to be clos'd beneath this hated roof.
‘Pay me my fortune, and within the hour
‘I leave your house and you.’
Said insolent Ophelia, ‘do these eyes
‘Wish to be clos'd beneath this hated roof.
‘Pay me my fortune, and within the hour
‘I leave your house and you.’
Old Elmer's heart
Had almost bust with anger. In great wrath
He rais'd his hand, but reason check'd his arm
And he forbore to strike. No more he said,
But hasting to his desk, with bills and draughts
Paid all her fortune to the utmost doit;
A little fortune, a few hundred pounds.
She joyfully receiv'd it, with a sneer
Bade him good day, and hasted to the door.
And forth she went on foot. His gen'rous heart
No longer could contain. Upon the floor
He fell, and curs'd the inauspicious hour
That brought the thankless monster to his door.
He blam'd blind Fortune, and his aged eye
Large tears of grief and indignation shed.
At length recover'd, to his desk he went,
Wrote to a trusty friend, and beg'd him watch
The secret motions of his undone niece.
Had almost bust with anger. In great wrath
He rais'd his hand, but reason check'd his arm
And he forbore to strike. No more he said,
But hasting to his desk, with bills and draughts
Paid all her fortune to the utmost doit;
A little fortune, a few hundred pounds.
She joyfully receiv'd it, with a sneer
Bade him good day, and hasted to the door.
18
No longer could contain. Upon the floor
He fell, and curs'd the inauspicious hour
That brought the thankless monster to his door.
He blam'd blind Fortune, and his aged eye
Large tears of grief and indignation shed.
At length recover'd, to his desk he went,
Wrote to a trusty friend, and beg'd him watch
The secret motions of his undone niece.
She to the town made speed, and now arriv'd
Inquires the lodging of her unknown friend.
He joyfully receives her, and detains
To dinner. She unlocks her heart, and tells
How much she loves him, what heroic acts
That love inspir'd, and how the surly fool
Dismiss'd her nothing loth. She shews the bills,
She shews the draughts.
Inquires the lodging of her unknown friend.
He joyfully receives her, and detains
To dinner. She unlocks her heart, and tells
How much she loves him, what heroic acts
That love inspir'd, and how the surly fool
Dismiss'd her nothing loth. She shews the bills,
She shews the draughts.
‘And is this all?’ he cried,
‘My dear Ophelia, we shall starve on this.
‘Better return, and tell him we are one,
‘And from his stingy purse extort a loan
‘By feign'd submission. Kneel, and pray, and weep.
‘And his old heart, tho' stubborn as a rock,
‘Shall bleed thee drops of gold. Leave these with me.’
‘My dear Ophelia, we shall starve on this.
19
‘And from his stingy purse extort a loan
‘By feign'd submission. Kneel, and pray, and weep.
‘And his old heart, tho' stubborn as a rock,
‘Shall bleed thee drops of gold. Leave these with me.’
‘So much at least,’ Ophelia said, ‘I give thee,’
And put the better half of all her wealth
Into her lover's hand. ‘But to return
‘And kneel, and weep, and pray, tho' drops of gold
‘Fell as I spoke, a million to a word,
‘My haughty soul disdains. And prithee, Love,
‘What need of more? this little is enough.
‘And if we cannot live in the proud world,
‘Let's to the cottage, where the public eye
‘Looks not contemptuous on the artful thrift
‘Of nice œconomy. There plenty, peace,
‘And happiness eternal as our love,
‘Shall cost us little.’
And put the better half of all her wealth
Into her lover's hand. ‘But to return
‘And kneel, and weep, and pray, tho' drops of gold
‘Fell as I spoke, a million to a word,
‘My haughty soul disdains. And prithee, Love,
‘What need of more? this little is enough.
‘And if we cannot live in the proud world,
‘Let's to the cottage, where the public eye
‘Looks not contemptuous on the artful thrift
‘Of nice œconomy. There plenty, peace,
‘And happiness eternal as our love,
‘Shall cost us little.’
20
‘My dear girl,’ said he,
‘Consider all thy wants. We cannot live
‘E'en in the cottage on a sum like this.
‘A few short years shall utterly consume
‘Our whole subsistence. To thy uncle then,
‘And beg forgiveness, and intreat his leave
‘Thyself, and thy fond husband may return
‘And at his table feed.’
‘Consider all thy wants. We cannot live
‘E'en in the cottage on a sum like this.
‘A few short years shall utterly consume
‘Our whole subsistence. To thy uncle then,
‘And beg forgiveness, and intreat his leave
‘Thyself, and thy fond husband may return
‘And at his table feed.’
‘Urge it no more.
‘I tell thee,’ said Ophelia, ‘I would die,
‘Would undergo all hardships flesh can feel,
‘Would wander, beg my bread from door to door,
‘And breathe my last upon a bed of straw,
‘Rather than seek that hated roof again.’
‘I tell thee,’ said Ophelia, ‘I would die,
‘Would undergo all hardships flesh can feel,
‘Would wander, beg my bread from door to door,
‘And breathe my last upon a bed of straw,
‘Rather than seek that hated roof again.’
‘Where wilt thou live?’ said he. ‘I cannot—no,
‘I will not wed thee; for my soul abhors
‘An act would ruin both thyself and me.’
‘What,’ said Ophelia,
‘I will not wed thee; for my soul abhors
‘An act would ruin both thyself and me.’
‘What,’ said Ophelia,
‘Have I left my home,
‘Forsook my uncle, and renounc'd his wealth,
‘And all for thee? and can thy cruel heart
‘Turn me adrift upon the troublous world?
‘Where is that love thy double tongue profess'd?’
21
‘And all for thee? and can thy cruel heart
‘Turn me adrift upon the troublous world?
‘Where is that love thy double tongue profess'd?’
‘I love thee still,’ said he, ‘mistake me not.
‘I love thee more than ever man has lov'd.
‘I cannot live without thee. To be there
‘Where thy sweet presence animates the world,
‘Were happiness my fond and doting heart
‘Would not exchange for Heav'n. And to be there
‘Where thy sweet presence never sheds a ray,
‘Were to be prison'd in a den of pain,
‘Tho' it were Paradise. Forsake me not.
‘Live with me, love me. Never let us part.
‘Command my house, and be for ever mine,
‘The lovely partner of my bed and board,
‘All but—my wife.’
‘I love thee more than ever man has lov'd.
‘I cannot live without thee. To be there
‘Where thy sweet presence animates the world,
‘Were happiness my fond and doting heart
‘Would not exchange for Heav'n. And to be there
‘Where thy sweet presence never sheds a ray,
‘Were to be prison'd in a den of pain,
‘Tho' it were Paradise. Forsake me not.
‘Live with me, love me. Never let us part.
‘Command my house, and be for ever mine,
‘The lovely partner of my bed and board,
‘All but—my wife.’
22
‘Ungrateful wretch,’ she cried,
‘Hast thou decoy'd me from my best of friends
‘Only to tempt me? No, my stubborn knee
‘Shall sooner kneel at angry Elmer's door,
‘Than my proud heart consent to terms like these.
‘Give me again my bills, and I depart
‘Never to see thee more.’
‘Hast thou decoy'd me from my best of friends
‘Only to tempt me? No, my stubborn knee
‘Shall sooner kneel at angry Elmer's door,
‘Than my proud heart consent to terms like these.
‘Give me again my bills, and I depart
‘Never to see thee more.’
‘Begone,’ he cried.
‘The bills were freely giv'n, and they are mine.
‘But it were wiser to reflect a while,
‘How this so tender form, this silky hand,
‘These crimson lips, and this vermilion cheek,
‘So smooth and delicate, shall bear the pains
‘Of hunger, cold, and want. How shall this eye
‘That never slumber'd but in beds of down,
‘Be clos'd in peace upon a mow of straw,
‘Where busy vermin squeak, and the starv'd owl
‘In hungry disappointment shrieks all night?
‘How shall it sleep upon the rich man's sill,
‘While robbers, watchmen, and the drunken rake
‘Plunder, insult and kill, and the great dog
‘Roars at his master's door, till morning dawn?
‘Or while the howling tempest scatters shards,
‘And angry winter blows his frozen snow
‘To ev'ry corner of the cheerless porch.
‘How shall thy tender foot, us'd to be nurs'd
‘In silk and cotton, on the naked flint
‘Go bare, wounded and hurt at ev'ry step?
‘How shall it bear the frost and chilling snow
‘Upon no hearth expos'd. O think of this,
‘Nor let thy tongue too rash renounce the terms
‘Of ease and pleasure.’
‘The bills were freely giv'n, and they are mine.
‘But it were wiser to reflect a while,
‘How this so tender form, this silky hand,
‘These crimson lips, and this vermilion cheek,
‘So smooth and delicate, shall bear the pains
‘Of hunger, cold, and want. How shall this eye
‘That never slumber'd but in beds of down,
‘Be clos'd in peace upon a mow of straw,
‘Where busy vermin squeak, and the starv'd owl
‘In hungry disappointment shrieks all night?
‘How shall it sleep upon the rich man's sill,
23
‘Plunder, insult and kill, and the great dog
‘Roars at his master's door, till morning dawn?
‘Or while the howling tempest scatters shards,
‘And angry winter blows his frozen snow
‘To ev'ry corner of the cheerless porch.
‘How shall thy tender foot, us'd to be nurs'd
‘In silk and cotton, on the naked flint
‘Go bare, wounded and hurt at ev'ry step?
‘How shall it bear the frost and chilling snow
‘Upon no hearth expos'd. O think of this,
‘Nor let thy tongue too rash renounce the terms
‘Of ease and pleasure.’
‘Artful, wicked tempter,
‘Think not thy glossy words,’ Ophelia cried,
‘Have pow'r to win me farther. I have lost—
‘What have I lost?’—She paus'd, and plenteous tears
Flow'd from her eyes—‘a pious uncle's love,
‘A home, a fortune. Shall I forfeit more?
‘Fool that I was to think thy oily tongue
‘Spoke the pure dictates of an honest heart
‘Bound in sincere affection. Ah, too late
‘I see the villain, and lament my loss.
‘But yet (she said and rose) yet will I bear
‘The keenest suff'rings poverty can bring,
‘Sooner than fall a victim to thy arts,
‘Thou base deceitful plund'rer. There is hope,
‘While virtue fails not, Providence may look
‘Not without pity on a wretch like me.
‘Some friends I have, and to those friends I fly.
‘To the wide world I'll publish thy deceit,
‘And may offended justice wake, and thou,
‘The wicked offspring of a wicked fire,
‘Die like thy father.’
‘Think not thy glossy words,’ Ophelia cried,
‘Have pow'r to win me farther. I have lost—
‘What have I lost?’—She paus'd, and plenteous tears
Flow'd from her eyes—‘a pious uncle's love,
‘A home, a fortune. Shall I forfeit more?
24
‘Spoke the pure dictates of an honest heart
‘Bound in sincere affection. Ah, too late
‘I see the villain, and lament my loss.
‘But yet (she said and rose) yet will I bear
‘The keenest suff'rings poverty can bring,
‘Sooner than fall a victim to thy arts,
‘Thou base deceitful plund'rer. There is hope,
‘While virtue fails not, Providence may look
‘Not without pity on a wretch like me.
‘Some friends I have, and to those friends I fly.
‘To the wide world I'll publish thy deceit,
‘And may offended justice wake, and thou,
‘The wicked offspring of a wicked fire,
‘Die like thy father.’
At the just rebuke
He rose in fury, but she shut the door
And turn'd the key, and to the street escap'd.
'Twas early ev'ning, and the twinkling stars
Began to spangle the pure arch of Heav'n.
A while she stood, to ease her swelling heart
And give a vent to grief; then forward went
Not knowing whither, and the trickling tear
Still wip'd away, that still ran trickling down.
At length she halted at Loquacia's door,
An ancient maiden who to Elmer's house
Came duly thrice a week, to tell the news.
Wealthy was she, and just upon the brink
Of threescore years had won the flinty heart
Of one as ancient as herself, but poor,
An aged bachelor, who fed the town
With physic and advice, but starv'd himself.
She stood a moment, wip'd her eyes, and rap'd.
Loquacia was alone and half asleep,
But at the sight of her dear friend Ophelia
Let loose her restless tongue, and bade her welcome.
He rose in fury, but she shut the door
And turn'd the key, and to the street escap'd.
'Twas early ev'ning, and the twinkling stars
Began to spangle the pure arch of Heav'n.
25
And give a vent to grief; then forward went
Not knowing whither, and the trickling tear
Still wip'd away, that still ran trickling down.
At length she halted at Loquacia's door,
An ancient maiden who to Elmer's house
Came duly thrice a week, to tell the news.
Wealthy was she, and just upon the brink
Of threescore years had won the flinty heart
Of one as ancient as herself, but poor,
An aged bachelor, who fed the town
With physic and advice, but starv'd himself.
She stood a moment, wip'd her eyes, and rap'd.
Loquacia was alone and half asleep,
But at the sight of her dear friend Ophelia
Let loose her restless tongue, and bade her welcome.
Ophelia could not speak. She wav'd her hand,
And from the bottom of her breaking heart
Utter'd a sigh, and wept. Her great distress
Loquacia soon perceiv'd, and from the shelf
Reach'd the kind cordial. To her trembling lips
She held it, and Ophelia drank. Reviv'd,
She told her story, how the treach'rous man
Seduc'd her from her uncle's calm abode,
How she ungrateful fled, her credulous ear
Poison'd with flattery, and how he sought
Her utter ruin. With attentive ear
Loquacia drank the tale, and wip'd her eyes
For tears unus'd to flow. She shook her hand,
She comforted, she kiss'd her, and assur'd
All would be well. Herself would interceed,
Her uncle would forgive, and 'till he did
She should be welcome to her bed and board.
And from the bottom of her breaking heart
Utter'd a sigh, and wept. Her great distress
26
Reach'd the kind cordial. To her trembling lips
She held it, and Ophelia drank. Reviv'd,
She told her story, how the treach'rous man
Seduc'd her from her uncle's calm abode,
How she ungrateful fled, her credulous ear
Poison'd with flattery, and how he sought
Her utter ruin. With attentive ear
Loquacia drank the tale, and wip'd her eyes
For tears unus'd to flow. She shook her hand,
She comforted, she kiss'd her, and assur'd
All would be well. Herself would interceed,
Her uncle would forgive, and 'till he did
She should be welcome to her bed and board.
So there she harbour'd for one tedious month,
By rude Loquacia's tongue tormented sore,
Yet patient to endure it. For she found
Her friends were few, and if Loquacia fail'd
Where should she shelter then?
By rude Loquacia's tongue tormented sore,
Yet patient to endure it. For she found
Her friends were few, and if Loquacia fail'd
Where should she shelter then?
27
To Elmer's house
Upon a future day Loquacia went,
Beg'd for his niece, subdued the good man's heart,
And he consented to forgive, if she
Would crave forgiveness humbly on her knees.
But she was full of shame, and wanted heart,
And something too the hard conditions scorn'd,
Not wholly humbled. At Loquacia's cost
From day to day she liv'd, still putting off,
Faint-hearted and irresolute, the task
Of due submission. To propose his terms
The aged bachelor oft came, but still
Ophelia's beauty, and her artless tongue
Made him forget his purpose. 'Twas to her
He seem'd a lover, and the hour of love
Due to Loquacia, was bestow'd on her.
Loquacia saw with jealousy and rage,
Oft disappointed, and thence led to fear
Where no fear was. She urg'd her to depart.
She fix'd the day: but still her courage fail'd.
At length, provok'd at her so long delay,
She bade her leave the house.
Upon a future day Loquacia went,
Beg'd for his niece, subdued the good man's heart,
And he consented to forgive, if she
Would crave forgiveness humbly on her knees.
But she was full of shame, and wanted heart,
And something too the hard conditions scorn'd,
Not wholly humbled. At Loquacia's cost
From day to day she liv'd, still putting off,
Faint-hearted and irresolute, the task
Of due submission. To propose his terms
The aged bachelor oft came, but still
Ophelia's beauty, and her artless tongue
Made him forget his purpose. 'Twas to her
He seem'd a lover, and the hour of love
Due to Loquacia, was bestow'd on her.
Loquacia saw with jealousy and rage,
Oft disappointed, and thence led to fear
Where no fear was. She urg'd her to depart.
She fix'd the day: but still her courage fail'd.
28
She bade her leave the house.
Ophelia rose,
Rose at that moment, and with swimming eyes
Departed.
Rose at that moment, and with swimming eyes
Departed.
What indulgent friend shall next
Provide her food and lodging? For her draughts
And few remaining bills she felt; but ah!
Some needy servant's hand had pilfer'd these,
And left her only those. One hundred pounds
Were all her fortune now. She chang'd her draughts
For bills and money, wrapt them up, and put
The poor provision for a life to come
Into her bosom. With an aching heart
She travel'd ev'ry street, and ev'ry lane,
To seek a lodging in some gloomy court,
How mean she car'd not, if it was but cheap.
Provide her food and lodging? For her draughts
And few remaining bills she felt; but ah!
Some needy servant's hand had pilfer'd these,
And left her only those. One hundred pounds
Were all her fortune now. She chang'd her draughts
For bills and money, wrapt them up, and put
The poor provision for a life to come
Into her bosom. With an aching heart
She travel'd ev'ry street, and ev'ry lane,
To seek a lodging in some gloomy court,
How mean she car'd not, if it was but cheap.
29
She found one and engag'd it. See her now
The wretched tenant of a smoke-dried room
Dark as a dungeon. There the cheerful Sun
Sheds not a ray in all his annual course;
Nor there the moon, wont to attend her bed,
And shine upon her, as she slept in peace
At Elmer's. Now her dismal chamber needs
The taper's light at noon, obscur'd by blinds
And windows dull with dust. No verdant lawn
Sprinkled with tufts, and solitary oaks,
Delights her eye, oft rais'd, but rais'd in vain.
No lofty poplar, birch, or ancient elm
Shakes his green honors in the western sun,
Checq'ring the wainscot with amusive dance.
No leaf is seen, save what the batter'd crock,
And spoutless teapot yield, from sickly flow'rs,
Starv'd myrtles, and geraniums loth to live.
It was a corner Nature had forsook,
Shut out for ever from the longing eye
By crowded buildings. And what peace within
Could thy uneasy heart, Ophelia, find,
No books, no instrument, no chosen friend,
No music, and no voice to sing, no clock
To count the tardy hours, no maid to wait,
No pen and ink, no work-bag, and no cards.
She curs'd her folly, and a thousand times
Resolv'd to ask forgiveness, but her heart
A thousand times recoil'd. So there she liv'd,
And often wander'd through the streets alone,
Despis'd, and little notic'd. For she found
That poverty and want were crime enough,
Though virtue still remain'd.
The wretched tenant of a smoke-dried room
Dark as a dungeon. There the cheerful Sun
Sheds not a ray in all his annual course;
Nor there the moon, wont to attend her bed,
And shine upon her, as she slept in peace
At Elmer's. Now her dismal chamber needs
The taper's light at noon, obscur'd by blinds
And windows dull with dust. No verdant lawn
Sprinkled with tufts, and solitary oaks,
Delights her eye, oft rais'd, but rais'd in vain.
No lofty poplar, birch, or ancient elm
Shakes his green honors in the western sun,
Checq'ring the wainscot with amusive dance.
No leaf is seen, save what the batter'd crock,
And spoutless teapot yield, from sickly flow'rs,
Starv'd myrtles, and geraniums loth to live.
It was a corner Nature had forsook,
Shut out for ever from the longing eye
By crowded buildings. And what peace within
30
No books, no instrument, no chosen friend,
No music, and no voice to sing, no clock
To count the tardy hours, no maid to wait,
No pen and ink, no work-bag, and no cards.
She curs'd her folly, and a thousand times
Resolv'd to ask forgiveness, but her heart
A thousand times recoil'd. So there she liv'd,
And often wander'd through the streets alone,
Despis'd, and little notic'd. For she found
That poverty and want were crime enough,
Though virtue still remain'd.
At such a time
Returning homeward with a downcast head,
In one hand silk and needles, in the other
A little volume with reluctance bought
To cheer her lonely ev'nings, Elmer's coach
Came unperceiv'd upon her, and her eye,
Full of repentance, and afloat in tears,
Met his. With gen'rous pity mov'd, he call'd,
He stop'd his coach and beckon'd. But she fled
Asham'd to see him, and with hasty steps
Came to her lodging, enter'd it, and wept.
And oft she wish'd to hear the sudden rap
Announce her uncle, or his man at least,
With written invitation to his roof
And welcome pardon: but no uncle came,
No man was sent. E'en to the midnight hour
She sat expecting by a farthing light,
Poring without attention o'er her book.
At length, despairing, to her bed she went,
Afflicted, supperless.
Returning homeward with a downcast head,
In one hand silk and needles, in the other
A little volume with reluctance bought
To cheer her lonely ev'nings, Elmer's coach
Came unperceiv'd upon her, and her eye,
Full of repentance, and afloat in tears,
31
He stop'd his coach and beckon'd. But she fled
Asham'd to see him, and with hasty steps
Came to her lodging, enter'd it, and wept.
And oft she wish'd to hear the sudden rap
Announce her uncle, or his man at least,
With written invitation to his roof
And welcome pardon: but no uncle came,
No man was sent. E'en to the midnight hour
She sat expecting by a farthing light,
Poring without attention o'er her book.
At length, despairing, to her bed she went,
Afflicted, supperless.
Next morn a friend
Came ere the kettle boil'd, and while the roll
Stood yet untouch'd upon the blinking hearth.
He beg'd admittance. Ernest was his name.
A friend to Elmer and to Elmer's niece.
Oft had he seen the melancholy maid
Pass by his door, and with a curious eye
Mark'd her retreat. And now with good intent
He sought her lodging, and was warm with hope,
By mild persuasion and intreaty won,
She yet would seek her uncle, and implore
Forgiveness not withheld. She bade him sit
And of her little meal partake. He sat,
He ate, and cheerfully began discourse
Of friends and foes, of politics and news.
Ophelia's heart reviv'd, and for an hour
She felt the pleasures of a mind at ease,
Disburden'd of all care. At length a pause
Gave way to recollection, and a sigh
Went from her heart.
Came ere the kettle boil'd, and while the roll
Stood yet untouch'd upon the blinking hearth.
He beg'd admittance. Ernest was his name.
A friend to Elmer and to Elmer's niece.
Oft had he seen the melancholy maid
32
Mark'd her retreat. And now with good intent
He sought her lodging, and was warm with hope,
By mild persuasion and intreaty won,
She yet would seek her uncle, and implore
Forgiveness not withheld. She bade him sit
And of her little meal partake. He sat,
He ate, and cheerfully began discourse
Of friends and foes, of politics and news.
Ophelia's heart reviv'd, and for an hour
She felt the pleasures of a mind at ease,
Disburden'd of all care. At length a pause
Gave way to recollection, and a sigh
Went from her heart.
‘And why that sigh, Ophelia?’
Said Ernest, smiling. ‘If contentless grief
‘Preys on thy heart; thyself must bear the blame,
‘For Nature made thee with a merry eye,
‘And Fortune dare not be thy foe an hour.
Said Ernest, smiling. ‘If contentless grief
‘Preys on thy heart; thyself must bear the blame,
‘For Nature made thee with a merry eye,
‘And Fortune dare not be thy foe an hour.
33
‘Think not;’ Ophelia said, ‘think not, good sir,
‘Though Nature made me with a merry eye,
‘And I have smil'd and been at ease to-day,
‘That grief and sorrow cannot reach my heart.
‘My disobedience ('twas the public talk)
‘Thou know'st. From that unhappy hour I've liv'd
‘A miserable outcast. And though smiles
‘Come ever to my cheek at sight of thee,
‘My heart is wounded, and my lonely hours
‘Are full of misery and pain. My looks
‘Will bear me witness, for the rose is fled.
‘I shun my glass, for I see nothing there
‘But meagre cheeks, pale lips, and melting eyes.
‘And Fortune too forsakes me. I have lost
‘Most of the little which my father left.
‘The villain who decoy'd me, at my word
‘Took half and kept it. Some dishonest hand
‘Stole half the rest, and of the little left
‘Scarce fourscore pounds remain. When these are gone
‘What shall I do to live? No tradesman now
‘Allows me credit longer than a week.
‘My surly landlord brought a bill to-day,
‘And bids me pay or quit.’
‘Though Nature made me with a merry eye,
‘And I have smil'd and been at ease to-day,
‘That grief and sorrow cannot reach my heart.
‘My disobedience ('twas the public talk)
‘Thou know'st. From that unhappy hour I've liv'd
‘A miserable outcast. And though smiles
‘Come ever to my cheek at sight of thee,
‘My heart is wounded, and my lonely hours
‘Are full of misery and pain. My looks
‘Will bear me witness, for the rose is fled.
‘I shun my glass, for I see nothing there
‘But meagre cheeks, pale lips, and melting eyes.
‘And Fortune too forsakes me. I have lost
‘Most of the little which my father left.
‘The villain who decoy'd me, at my word
‘Took half and kept it. Some dishonest hand
‘Stole half the rest, and of the little left
‘Scarce fourscore pounds remain. When these are gone
34
‘Allows me credit longer than a week.
‘My surly landlord brought a bill to-day,
‘And bids me pay or quit.’
‘Be not dismay'd,’
Said Ernest kindly, ‘for beneath my roof
‘Thou shalt not need a friend. Return with me,
‘Or let me lead thee to good Elmer's house.
‘There want shall never find thee. At a word
‘Forgiveness shall be thine, for he esteems
‘And loves thee much, he pities and invites.
‘Fly to thy uncle, no unwelcome guest,
‘And by one dutiful and prudent act
‘Set Fortune at defiance.’
Said Ernest kindly, ‘for beneath my roof
‘Thou shalt not need a friend. Return with me,
‘Or let me lead thee to good Elmer's house.
‘There want shall never find thee. At a word
‘Forgiveness shall be thine, for he esteems
‘And loves thee much, he pities and invites.
‘Fly to thy uncle, no unwelcome guest,
‘And by one dutiful and prudent act
‘Set Fortune at defiance.’
‘Worthy Sir,
‘I feel justice of thy good advice.
‘I know,’ said she, ‘'twere unbecoming him,
‘'Twere condescension not to be forgiv'n,
‘To visit one undutiful like me,
‘And offer pardon never sought or ask'd.
‘I feel my folly, I lament my pride;
‘I hate to think of the ungrateful words
‘My tongue has utter'd to the best of friends.
‘But how shall I return? How can I look
‘On Elmer's face again, when but the thought
‘Of my past disobedience fires my cheek
‘With shame that cannot bear the light alone.
‘'Twas but last night, returning home in tears,
‘I met his coach unheeding, and beheld
‘His eye, not angry, but appeas'd and kind,
‘Fast fix'd on me. He call'd me by my name,
‘He stop'd and beckon'd; but my heart was full,
‘My conscience smote me, and I fled with haste.
‘The world's great Judge could not have awed me more.
‘I drew my bonnet o'er my burning cheek,
‘And my distracted eye oft turning back
‘Dar'd not encounter his again. I fled,
‘I curs'd my coward heart, and almost spent
‘Came trembling home.’
‘I feel justice of thy good advice.
‘I know,’ said she, ‘'twere unbecoming him,
‘'Twere condescension not to be forgiv'n,
35
‘And offer pardon never sought or ask'd.
‘I feel my folly, I lament my pride;
‘I hate to think of the ungrateful words
‘My tongue has utter'd to the best of friends.
‘But how shall I return? How can I look
‘On Elmer's face again, when but the thought
‘Of my past disobedience fires my cheek
‘With shame that cannot bear the light alone.
‘'Twas but last night, returning home in tears,
‘I met his coach unheeding, and beheld
‘His eye, not angry, but appeas'd and kind,
‘Fast fix'd on me. He call'd me by my name,
‘He stop'd and beckon'd; but my heart was full,
‘My conscience smote me, and I fled with haste.
‘The world's great Judge could not have awed me more.
‘I drew my bonnet o'er my burning cheek,
‘And my distracted eye oft turning back
‘Dar'd not encounter his again. I fled,
36
‘Came trembling home.’
‘Then be advis'd,’ he said,
‘Let us together visit Elmer's door,
‘And what thy fault'ring tongue wants pow'r to say,
‘That mine shall utter for thee. Be advis'd.
‘To-morrow be the day. In the mean time
‘Come and be happy with my son and me.’
‘Let us together visit Elmer's door,
‘And what thy fault'ring tongue wants pow'r to say,
‘That mine shall utter for thee. Be advis'd.
‘To-morrow be the day. In the mean time
‘Come and be happy with my son and me.’
She hesitated long, and beg'd at last
A week for preparation.
A week for preparation.
‘Take a week,’
Said Ernest, happy to prevail so far,
‘And spend that week with us. Come, no reply.
‘Discharge thy landlord. In an hour at most
‘I shall expect thee.’
Said Ernest, happy to prevail so far,
‘And spend that week with us. Come, no reply.
‘Discharge thy landlord. In an hour at most
‘I shall expect thee.’
To the door he went,
And left her. She obey'd, to be set free
From this her dreary mansion little loth,
And having paid her landlord, left his house,
And came to Ernest's. With a gracious smile,
Such as the tender father gives his child,
He at his door receiv'd her. To her room
Now he conducts her, at the table's head
Now seats her, and proclaims her with delight
Queen of the feast. With cheerfulness and ease
She rules the board, and half forgets her grief.
Day rose, and day retir'd. Night after night
Withdrew, and ere she thinks of preparation
The promis'd week is gone. She begs one more,
And yet another. To protract her stay
Ernest consents, unwilling to dismiss
A guest so lovely. At the long delay
Young Henry too was pleas'd, with secret love
Towards Ophelia burning. For what youth
Can look on woman beauteous as the morn
With tearful eyes emerging from distress,
All penitence and sorrow—and not love?
Is there a man whose iron heart is proof
Against such charms? Lay not his bones by mine.
For should they touch, 'twere like a sudden spark
Let fall by chance among the nitrous casks
Lodg'd in the bowels of a ship of war,
Which in a moment blows her to the Moon.
And left her. She obey'd, to be set free
37
And having paid her landlord, left his house,
And came to Ernest's. With a gracious smile,
Such as the tender father gives his child,
He at his door receiv'd her. To her room
Now he conducts her, at the table's head
Now seats her, and proclaims her with delight
Queen of the feast. With cheerfulness and ease
She rules the board, and half forgets her grief.
Day rose, and day retir'd. Night after night
Withdrew, and ere she thinks of preparation
The promis'd week is gone. She begs one more,
And yet another. To protract her stay
Ernest consents, unwilling to dismiss
A guest so lovely. At the long delay
Young Henry too was pleas'd, with secret love
Towards Ophelia burning. For what youth
Can look on woman beauteous as the morn
With tearful eyes emerging from distress,
All penitence and sorrow—and not love?
38
Against such charms? Lay not his bones by mine.
For should they touch, 'twere like a sudden spark
Let fall by chance among the nitrous casks
Lodg'd in the bowels of a ship of war,
Which in a moment blows her to the Moon.
He lov'd, but only lov'd in secret. Then
When Ernest was retir'd, and to his books,
So custom'd, with the ev'ning sun withdrew,
He sat admiring by Ophelia, laugh'd,
And read the news, and chatted. Vex'd was she
To find the lover in his words and deeds,
And pray'd him to desist. The more repuls'd
The more love labours. With assiduous care
He watch'd her ev'ry motion, at her side
From morning until night. He drank her smiles,
With one kind look enliven'd and refresh'd
More than old Earth, with all her vernal show'rs
And Summer suns. He fed upon her words,
A banquet sweeter than the food of gods,
And not less musical than Heav'n's high feast,
(Though all were true the dreaming poet feigns)
When he, the archer with the silver bow,
Smote the resounding lyre and charm'd the ear
Of slumb'ring Jove.
When Ernest was retir'd, and to his books,
So custom'd, with the ev'ning sun withdrew,
He sat admiring by Ophelia, laugh'd,
And read the news, and chatted. Vex'd was she
To find the lover in his words and deeds,
And pray'd him to desist. The more repuls'd
The more love labours. With assiduous care
He watch'd her ev'ry motion, at her side
From morning until night. He drank her smiles,
With one kind look enliven'd and refresh'd
More than old Earth, with all her vernal show'rs
And Summer suns. He fed upon her words,
39
And not less musical than Heav'n's high feast,
(Though all were true the dreaming poet feigns)
When he, the archer with the silver bow,
Smote the resounding lyre and charm'd the ear
Of slumb'ring Jove.
Yet was not love so pure
But the fond Henry's heart would sometimes burn
With brutal hope. Thanks to your care and pains,
Ye public tutors, who inform'd his mind,
And made him learned, but not made him good.
Of duty and of honor what knew he?
Directed never to the word of truth,
And gleaning all his notions from the world.
So in his heart he nourish'd base desire,
And thought it not inhuman to design
The ruin of Ophelia. To her door
Thrice at the dead of night he softly crept
Purpos'd to tempt her, but the door was lock'd.
Not in despair he drew her maid aside,
And gave her gold, and promis'd to give more
Would she his purpose favor, and forget
To lock Ophelia's door, or leave the key,
Or bring it to his chamber. She agreed,
But told Ophelia of his base intent.
Perplex'd was she, and her distracted mind
Labour'd till ev'ning to invent a plan
Of sure escape. She knew her maid not false,
For she had heard him at her chamber door
Thrice struggling for admittance. Shall she go
And tell the gen'rous Ernest that his son
Plots her destruction? Shall she wound the heart
Of honest Friendship with a tale so black?
No; she resolves to quit his roof by stealth,
And dare the fang of poverty again.
But the fond Henry's heart would sometimes burn
With brutal hope. Thanks to your care and pains,
Ye public tutors, who inform'd his mind,
And made him learned, but not made him good.
Of duty and of honor what knew he?
Directed never to the word of truth,
And gleaning all his notions from the world.
So in his heart he nourish'd base desire,
And thought it not inhuman to design
The ruin of Ophelia. To her door
Thrice at the dead of night he softly crept
Purpos'd to tempt her, but the door was lock'd.
40
And gave her gold, and promis'd to give more
Would she his purpose favor, and forget
To lock Ophelia's door, or leave the key,
Or bring it to his chamber. She agreed,
But told Ophelia of his base intent.
Perplex'd was she, and her distracted mind
Labour'd till ev'ning to invent a plan
Of sure escape. She knew her maid not false,
For she had heard him at her chamber door
Thrice struggling for admittance. Shall she go
And tell the gen'rous Ernest that his son
Plots her destruction? Shall she wound the heart
Of honest Friendship with a tale so black?
No; she resolves to quit his roof by stealth,
And dare the fang of poverty again.
So when the time of rest was come, and night
Muffled in gloomy clouds, without her moon,
Drew to her darkest hour; while the hall lamp
Yet in the socket blink'd, and yet was heard
The sound of noisy servants gone to bed,
She left her room, and silently unbar'd,
Unbolted, and unlock'd the outer door,
Lifted the latch, went out, and drew it to,
And fled. Happy she was, for her good heart
Approv'd the virtuous deed, and to itself
Teem'd with congratulation.
Muffled in gloomy clouds, without her moon,
Drew to her darkest hour; while the hall lamp
41
The sound of noisy servants gone to bed,
She left her room, and silently unbar'd,
Unbolted, and unlock'd the outer door,
Lifted the latch, went out, and drew it to,
And fled. Happy she was, for her good heart
Approv'd the virtuous deed, and to itself
Teem'd with congratulation.
But where now
Shall houseless Virtue find a waking friend?
Where shall her sleepy eye be clos'd in peace?
Who will regard her sighs, and strew the couch
Of kind indulgence for her weary limbs?
Silent and cold she travel'd ev'ry street,
But saw no friendly light and heard no voice
Save at the public inn. And there a ring
Of clam'rous bacchanals, involv'd in smoke,
Sat roaring o'er their cups. Each in his turn
Bray'd uncouth song, half drunk and half asleep.
Then loud applause ensued, encores and claps,
Bravos and hearty laughs. The heavy fist
Fell on the table, and with sudden bounce
Thunder'd the transport of the clownish heart,
Till pipes and glasses danc'd upon the board.
She heard and trembled, half inclin'd to fly,
Nor seek the bar alone to ask a bed.
She paus'd, she gather'd courage, and at length
Went to the door.
Shall houseless Virtue find a waking friend?
Where shall her sleepy eye be clos'd in peace?
Who will regard her sighs, and strew the couch
Of kind indulgence for her weary limbs?
Silent and cold she travel'd ev'ry street,
But saw no friendly light and heard no voice
Save at the public inn. And there a ring
Of clam'rous bacchanals, involv'd in smoke,
Sat roaring o'er their cups. Each in his turn
Bray'd uncouth song, half drunk and half asleep.
42
Bravos and hearty laughs. The heavy fist
Fell on the table, and with sudden bounce
Thunder'd the transport of the clownish heart,
Till pipes and glasses danc'd upon the board.
She heard and trembled, half inclin'd to fly,
Nor seek the bar alone to ask a bed.
She paus'd, she gather'd courage, and at length
Went to the door.
But what was thy distress?
What was thy grief, thy terror, and thy pain,
Hapless Ophelia, when thy searching hand
Found not the purse, when recollection told
'Twas left at Ernest's in a private drawer.
(She stood amaz'd, by twenty thousand fears
At once assaulted. She withdrew and wept.
She measur'd back her steps to Ernest's door,
Approach'd with caution, try'd it, found it fast.
In exquisite despair she sat awhile
Half-perish'd on his threshold. She arose,
In doubt to live or die. To a small brook,
Silent and deep, she sped with rash intent,
But just upon the brink stopt short and thought.
She saw beyond the grave eternal life
Fill'd with no good for her, if rashly thus
She ran a base deserter from her post,
And rush'd into the land of ease and rest
Uncall'd and uninvited. On her woes
She once again look'd back, and found them woes
Deserv'd by indiscretion; woes severe,
Yet woes to be averted by one act,
One little easy and becoming act
Of dutiful submission. Her vex'd heart
Recoil'd with horror at the wicked thought
Of self-destruction. To the king of Heav'n
She rais'd her hands and eyes, and wept for shame.
Soon as the morning dawns her purpose is
Home to return, and humbly to intreat
Elmer's forgiveness. So with mind compos'd
She walk'd and sigh'd, and wish'd the night away
Along the meadow path.
What was thy grief, thy terror, and thy pain,
Hapless Ophelia, when thy searching hand
Found not the purse, when recollection told
'Twas left at Ernest's in a private drawer.
(She stood amaz'd, by twenty thousand fears
At once assaulted. She withdrew and wept.
She measur'd back her steps to Ernest's door,
Approach'd with caution, try'd it, found it fast.
In exquisite despair she sat awhile
43
In doubt to live or die. To a small brook,
Silent and deep, she sped with rash intent,
But just upon the brink stopt short and thought.
She saw beyond the grave eternal life
Fill'd with no good for her, if rashly thus
She ran a base deserter from her post,
And rush'd into the land of ease and rest
Uncall'd and uninvited. On her woes
She once again look'd back, and found them woes
Deserv'd by indiscretion; woes severe,
Yet woes to be averted by one act,
One little easy and becoming act
Of dutiful submission. Her vex'd heart
Recoil'd with horror at the wicked thought
Of self-destruction. To the king of Heav'n
She rais'd her hands and eyes, and wept for shame.
Soon as the morning dawns her purpose is
Home to return, and humbly to intreat
Elmer's forgiveness. So with mind compos'd
She walk'd and sigh'd, and wish'd the night away
Along the meadow path.
44
At length a breeze
Blew from the east, and rent the sable clouds
That all night long had veil'd the starry Heav'ns.
From many a cheerful loophole thro' the gloom
Peeps the clear azure with its living gems.
Fast flies the scud, and now the glowing dawn
Stands unobscur'd upon the mountain's top,
Her lovely forehead with a waning moon
And her own brilliant day-star grac'd. The clouds,
Still floating overhead, touch'd by the beam
Of the slow sun emerging from the deep
(But to Ophelia's eye not yet reveal'd)
Are fleeces dipt in silver, dappled pearl,
And feathers smoother than the cygnet's down;
Here red and fiery as the ferret's eye,
Here dun and wavy as the turtle's breast.
The sainting stars withdraw, the moon grows pale,
And the clear planet, messenger of light,
Hides in the splendor of returning day.
The mountains are on fire. The forest burns
With glory not to be beheld. The Heav'ns
Are streak'd with rays from the relumin'd east,
As from the center of a flaming wheel,
Shot round. The sun appears. The jovial hills
Rejoice and sing, the cheerful valleys laugh.
All nature utters from her thankful heart
Audible gratitude. The voice of man
Returning to his labor fills the land.
The Shepherd whistles and the cow-boy sings.
The team with clinking harness seeks the field.
The plough begins to move. The tinkling flock
Streams from the fold and spots the dewy down.
The mounting bell upon his axle swings
And fills the country with his cheerful note.
Wak'd at the sound, the daw has taken wing
And skims about the steeple. Lo! the smoke
Ascending from a thousand chimney tops
And by its upright course presaging calm.
Hark! how the sawyer labours with his saw,
The joiner with his hammer and his plane.
The farmer's wife comes jogging to the town,
Timing her ditty to old Dobbin's foot.
The railing fish-dame follows with her panniers.
The chimney-sweeper bawls. The milk-maid cries.
The black-smith beats his anvil, and the dray,
Stage-coach and waggon lumber thro' the streets.
Blew from the east, and rent the sable clouds
That all night long had veil'd the starry Heav'ns.
From many a cheerful loophole thro' the gloom
Peeps the clear azure with its living gems.
Fast flies the scud, and now the glowing dawn
Stands unobscur'd upon the mountain's top,
Her lovely forehead with a waning moon
And her own brilliant day-star grac'd. The clouds,
Still floating overhead, touch'd by the beam
Of the slow sun emerging from the deep
(But to Ophelia's eye not yet reveal'd)
Are fleeces dipt in silver, dappled pearl,
And feathers smoother than the cygnet's down;
Here red and fiery as the ferret's eye,
Here dun and wavy as the turtle's breast.
The sainting stars withdraw, the moon grows pale,
And the clear planet, messenger of light,
Hides in the splendor of returning day.
The mountains are on fire. The forest burns
45
Are streak'd with rays from the relumin'd east,
As from the center of a flaming wheel,
Shot round. The sun appears. The jovial hills
Rejoice and sing, the cheerful valleys laugh.
All nature utters from her thankful heart
Audible gratitude. The voice of man
Returning to his labor fills the land.
The Shepherd whistles and the cow-boy sings.
The team with clinking harness seeks the field.
The plough begins to move. The tinkling flock
Streams from the fold and spots the dewy down.
The mounting bell upon his axle swings
And fills the country with his cheerful note.
Wak'd at the sound, the daw has taken wing
And skims about the steeple. Lo! the smoke
Ascending from a thousand chimney tops
And by its upright course presaging calm.
Hark! how the sawyer labours with his saw,
The joiner with his hammer and his plane.
46
Timing her ditty to old Dobbin's foot.
The railing fish-dame follows with her panniers.
The chimney-sweeper bawls. The milk-maid cries.
The black-smith beats his anvil, and the dray,
Stage-coach and waggon lumber thro' the streets.
Then to the town once more Ophelia turn'd,
And briskly stepping thro' the busy street,
Went on to Elmer's. Thrice she halted, thrice
Her heart misgave her, thrice she firmly vow'd
Not to retreat. To Elmer's gate she comes,
Throbbing with hurry, and her trembling hand
Scarce dares to lift the latch. She hears a noise,
And like the tim'rous hare with ear erect
Stands list'ning, and surveys the country round.
'Twas nothing but the woodman at his work.
So on she went, at ev'ry perching bird
Surpris'd, and startled at the falling leaf.
In a bye-way she walks that thro' a wood
Leads to the house, and now beholds a seat
In former days belov'd and often sought,
On ev'ry side from the cold wind secur'd
But open to the south. To it she speeds,
But ere she enters, listens and looks round.
Nothing was heard. So fainting with fatigue
Here she resolves to rest. Once more she stops,
And looking round, steps in and takes her seat.
And briskly stepping thro' the busy street,
Went on to Elmer's. Thrice she halted, thrice
Her heart misgave her, thrice she firmly vow'd
Not to retreat. To Elmer's gate she comes,
Throbbing with hurry, and her trembling hand
Scarce dares to lift the latch. She hears a noise,
And like the tim'rous hare with ear erect
Stands list'ning, and surveys the country round.
'Twas nothing but the woodman at his work.
So on she went, at ev'ry perching bird
Surpris'd, and startled at the falling leaf.
In a bye-way she walks that thro' a wood
47
In former days belov'd and often sought,
On ev'ry side from the cold wind secur'd
But open to the south. To it she speeds,
But ere she enters, listens and looks round.
Nothing was heard. So fainting with fatigue
Here she resolves to rest. Once more she stops,
And looking round, steps in and takes her seat.
Close at her side sat Elmer with his book.
She saw. Her heart rebounded with surprise.
She shriek'd, she sunk, and fell upon her knees
Pale as a corpse. The good old man beheld
With glad astonishment, forgave her all,
Cheer'd and supported her, bade her revive,
And with her flowing tears mix'd his. ‘Come, come,
‘All shall be well,’ he said. ‘Bewail no more.
‘Elmer forgives.’ She fell upon his neck,
Lovely contrition! and he wip'd her eyes,
Chaf'd her pale hand, and warm'd her cheek with his.
She promis'd never to offend again.
He hush'd her sorrow and would hear no more.
She saw. Her heart rebounded with surprise.
She shriek'd, she sunk, and fell upon her knees
Pale as a corpse. The good old man beheld
With glad astonishment, forgave her all,
Cheer'd and supported her, bade her revive,
And with her flowing tears mix'd his. ‘Come, come,
‘All shall be well,’ he said. ‘Bewail no more.
‘Elmer forgives.’ She fell upon his neck,
Lovely contrition! and he wip'd her eyes,
Chaf'd her pale hand, and warm'd her cheek with his.
48
He hush'd her sorrow and would hear no more.
Ye proud transgressors, who expunge no crime
By just acknowledgment and honest tears,
Ye stubborn hearts, where malice ever reigns
A stranger to forgiveness, look on these,
And see how noble 'tis to own a fault,
How generous and godlike to forgive it.
By just acknowledgment and honest tears,
Ye stubborn hearts, where malice ever reigns
A stranger to forgiveness, look on these,
And see how noble 'tis to own a fault,
How generous and godlike to forgive it.
Together long they sat, and he was kind
And she was thankful. From her downcast eye
Sorrow still fell, and on her burning cheek
Glow'd the fine crimson of ingenuous shame.
He bade her be compos'd. He sooth'd her heart
Lab'ring with sighs. He took his book and read,
It was a fable. ‘Ay,’ said he, ‘most just.
‘This Poet much delights me. Hear, my child.
‘'Tis a short story of an aged oak
‘And a presumptuous brier. I'll not read,
‘But tell it, left thy ear unus'd, despise
‘And little relish the rude Poet's style.
And she was thankful. From her downcast eye
Sorrow still fell, and on her burning cheek
Glow'd the fine crimson of ingenuous shame.
He bade her be compos'd. He sooth'd her heart
Lab'ring with sighs. He took his book and read,
It was a fable. ‘Ay,’ said he, ‘most just.
‘This Poet much delights me. Hear, my child.
‘'Tis a short story of an aged oak
‘And a presumptuous brier. I'll not read,
49
‘And little relish the rude Poet's style.
There grew upon a Kentish green
What once a stately Oak had been.
His arm was large and wide display'd,
And oft the shepherd sought his shade,
And here his panting flock would rest
By summer's burning heat opprest.
High was his head and vast his shield,
He stood the sov'reign of the field.
But soon were past his better days,
And now his aged arm decays.
The burning lightning strikes his head,
The glories of his brow are dead.
His branch is bare and waste with worms,
His trunk consum'd and beat by storms.
What once a stately Oak had been.
His arm was large and wide display'd,
And oft the shepherd sought his shade,
And here his panting flock would rest
By summer's burning heat opprest.
High was his head and vast his shield,
He stood the sov'reign of the field.
But soon were past his better days,
And now his aged arm decays.
The burning lightning strikes his head,
The glories of his brow are dead.
His branch is bare and waste with worms,
His trunk consum'd and beat by storms.
50
Hard by a haughty Brier grew
(In youth and beauty much like you)
And shelter'd by the faithful tree
Was vigorous as plant could be.
Returning summer clothes her now,
And fragrant blossoms deck her bough.
The nightingale her leaves among
Warbles her sweet nocturnal song.
And ever to her branch so fair
The lasses of the vale repair,
And she her blossoms freely show'rs,
And fills their bosoms with her flow'rs.
(In youth and beauty much like you)
And shelter'd by the faithful tree
Was vigorous as plant could be.
Returning summer clothes her now,
And fragrant blossoms deck her bough.
The nightingale her leaves among
Warbles her sweet nocturnal song.
And ever to her branch so fair
The lasses of the vale repair,
And she her blossoms freely show'rs,
And fills their bosoms with her flow'rs.
So sought, she grew exceeding proud,
And oft was heard to vaunt aloud,
And once upon a time was bold
To scorn the Oak for being old.
‘Why stand'st thou here, thou surly block,
‘Nor fruit nor shadow yields thy stock.
‘Behold how my gay flow'rs are spread
‘In lily white and crimson red.
‘Behold my leaves so fresh and green,
‘My verdure fit to clothe a queen.
‘Thy wasted branch takes needless room,
‘And spoils the beauty of my bloom.
‘The mouldy moss which thee destroys
‘My smell of cinnamon alloys.
‘Be gone, nor dare to make defence,
‘On pain of my displeasure, hence.’
And oft was heard to vaunt aloud,
And once upon a time was bold
To scorn the Oak for being old.
‘Why stand'st thou here, thou surly block,
‘Nor fruit nor shadow yields thy stock.
51
‘In lily white and crimson red.
‘Behold my leaves so fresh and green,
‘My verdure fit to clothe a queen.
‘Thy wasted branch takes needless room,
‘And spoils the beauty of my bloom.
‘The mouldy moss which thee destroys
‘My smell of cinnamon alloys.
‘Be gone, nor dare to make defence,
‘On pain of my displeasure, hence.’
So spake the Brier, proud and vain.
The Oak look'd down with great disdain,
And scorn'd to answer such a weed,
Once humble, but now proud indeed.
He griev'd to think his friendly arm
Had shelter'd her and kept her warm,
Had screen'd her from the storm so rude,
And yet she had no gratitude.
The Oak look'd down with great disdain,
And scorn'd to answer such a weed,
Once humble, but now proud indeed.
He griev'd to think his friendly arm
Had shelter'd her and kept her warm,
Had screen'd her from the storm so rude,
And yet she had no gratitude.
52
It chanc'd upon a future day
The Husbandman came down that way,
Accustom'd yearly to walk round
And view the trees upon his ground.
Him soon the spiteful Brier spied,
And thus in haste complaining cried:
‘O thou, the author of my life,
‘Be pleas'd to put an end to strife.
‘On thy protection I rely,
‘O grant me succour ere I die.’
The Husbandman came down that way,
Accustom'd yearly to walk round
And view the trees upon his ground.
Him soon the spiteful Brier spied,
And thus in haste complaining cried:
‘O thou, the author of my life,
‘Be pleas'd to put an end to strife.
‘On thy protection I rely,
‘O grant me succour ere I die.’
Mov'd at the Brier's piteous plea,
The good man rested on the lea,
And bade her in her plaint proceed;
When thus began the haughty weed.
The good man rested on the lea,
And bade her in her plaint proceed;
When thus began the haughty weed.
‘Was I not planted by thy hand
‘To be the primrose of the land?
‘In spring to shine in flow'ry suit,
‘In autumn yield thee scarlet fruit?
‘How comes it then this surly Oak,
‘So wounded by the thunder's stroke,
‘Whose ancient trunk invites the fire,
‘Dares to such tyranny aspire?
‘Forbidding me to charm thy sight,
‘And hiding from me day's sweet light.
‘His heavy branches beat me sore,
‘I weep, he vexes me the more.
‘And oft his greedy worms alight
‘And gnaw my tender buds in spite,
‘Forbidding my sweet flow'rs to blow,
‘To make a chaplet for thy brow.
‘And oft his bitter leaves are shed
‘Disgracing my fair flowery head.
‘O deign my suff'rings to assuage,
‘And rid me from the tyrant's rage.’
‘To be the primrose of the land?
‘In spring to shine in flow'ry suit,
‘In autumn yield thee scarlet fruit?
53
‘So wounded by the thunder's stroke,
‘Whose ancient trunk invites the fire,
‘Dares to such tyranny aspire?
‘Forbidding me to charm thy sight,
‘And hiding from me day's sweet light.
‘His heavy branches beat me sore,
‘I weep, he vexes me the more.
‘And oft his greedy worms alight
‘And gnaw my tender buds in spite,
‘Forbidding my sweet flow'rs to blow,
‘To make a chaplet for thy brow.
‘And oft his bitter leaves are shed
‘Disgracing my fair flowery head.
‘O deign my suff'rings to assuage,
‘And rid me from the tyrant's rage.’
She said. The Husbandman deceiv'd,
Was at her hardships sorely griev'd,
And home to fetch his hatchet went,
Resolv'd to give the plant content,
He comes, and with repeated stroke
Cuts down at last the aged Oak.
And low he lies bewail'd of none,
While the proud Brier stands alone.
Was at her hardships sorely griev'd,
54
Resolv'd to give the plant content,
He comes, and with repeated stroke
Cuts down at last the aged Oak.
And low he lies bewail'd of none,
While the proud Brier stands alone.
But now with storm severe and keen
Imperious Winter sweeps the green,
And breaks the Brier's tender shoots,
And spoils her branch and tears her roots.
The watery wet weighs down her head,
The north-wind almost nips her dead,
Scarce able now to stand upright,
The falling snow subdues her quite.
Imperious Winter sweeps the green,
And breaks the Brier's tender shoots,
And spoils her branch and tears her roots.
The watery wet weighs down her head,
The north-wind almost nips her dead,
Scarce able now to stand upright,
The falling snow subdues her quite.
Her folly then she 'gan bemoan,
And griev'd to think the Oak was gone.
But then it was too late to weep,
Her branch was nibbled by the sheep;
Wounded and hurt she cannot rise,
The cattle browse her as she lies,
And trample on her till she dies.
And griev'd to think the Oak was gone.
But then it was too late to weep,
Her branch was nibbled by the sheep;
55
The cattle browse her as she lies,
And trample on her till she dies.
Ophelia felt the Fable, and again
Shed free contrition. Elmer took her hand,
Kiss'd her and rose. Together then they went,
And much was he rejoic'd to hold again
The jewel he had lost. He led her home,
Bade all his house be glad, restor'd her all,
And she was happy as her heart could wish.
With tears she welcom'd her forsaken room,
Her joyful servant, her delighted dog,
Her bird, her work, her instrument, her books.
She feels the value of a friend at home,
She inwardly resolves to love him well,
And shun the friendship of the world for ever.
Then to her heart sweet peace again return'd,
And grief forsook her. Not a trace remain'd
Of all her misery, save now and then,
As she reclin'd upon the sofa's arm,
A hearty sigh, and now and then a tear
Wip'd silently away from her clos'd eye.
Fatigue subdued her. On her arm she lean'd.
Soft slumber seal'd her lips, and with a look
Where sadness mingled with returning joy,
And like the morning had a dewy smile,
She fell asleep. Now, Painter, fetch the brush.
Give me a faithful copy of that face,
And call it Penitence. The person too,
The attitude, the unaffected grace,
That hand and kerchief, those neglected tresses,
And all that sweet derangement, paint them well,
Not daring the addition of a hair.
I will not think there is a soul on earth
Could look on such a picture and be calm.
All shall commend it, for I tell thee, friend,
The eyes that are now fix'd upon that maid
Are more in number than the stars of Heav'n.
Angels, Archangels, yea, the King of Kings,
They all behold her, and they all applaud.
Shed free contrition. Elmer took her hand,
Kiss'd her and rose. Together then they went,
And much was he rejoic'd to hold again
The jewel he had lost. He led her home,
Bade all his house be glad, restor'd her all,
And she was happy as her heart could wish.
With tears she welcom'd her forsaken room,
Her joyful servant, her delighted dog,
Her bird, her work, her instrument, her books.
She feels the value of a friend at home,
She inwardly resolves to love him well,
And shun the friendship of the world for ever.
Then to her heart sweet peace again return'd,
And grief forsook her. Not a trace remain'd
Of all her misery, save now and then,
56
A hearty sigh, and now and then a tear
Wip'd silently away from her clos'd eye.
Fatigue subdued her. On her arm she lean'd.
Soft slumber seal'd her lips, and with a look
Where sadness mingled with returning joy,
And like the morning had a dewy smile,
She fell asleep. Now, Painter, fetch the brush.
Give me a faithful copy of that face,
And call it Penitence. The person too,
The attitude, the unaffected grace,
That hand and kerchief, those neglected tresses,
And all that sweet derangement, paint them well,
Not daring the addition of a hair.
I will not think there is a soul on earth
Could look on such a picture and be calm.
All shall commend it, for I tell thee, friend,
The eyes that are now fix'd upon that maid
Are more in number than the stars of Heav'n.
57
They all behold her, and they all applaud.
This tale for you, ye ever-restless fair,
A zealous Poet wrote. Of Woman much
He dreams, much speaks. He loves you passing well,
And would direct you in the wholesome paths
Shall make you lovely; shall improve the charms
Which nature gives you here, and when they fade
Shall make you worthy of a place in Heav'n.
A zealous Poet wrote. Of Woman much
He dreams, much speaks. He loves you passing well,
And would direct you in the wholesome paths
Shall make you lovely; shall improve the charms
Which nature gives you here, and when they fade
Shall make you worthy of a place in Heav'n.
Come then and learn, thou lovely friend of Man,
Main-spring of all his actions good and bad,
Learn all thy duty in one word, obey.
Main-spring of all his actions good and bad,
Learn all thy duty in one word, obey.
Ye infant belles in the high bloom of youth,
Impatient of restraint, be subject still,
And dread the moment when a forward tongue
Shall prompt you to renounce the good advice
Of those who lead you. To the lover's voice
Listen with caution. Try him for an age.
Look with a piercing eye thro' all his ways
At home, abroad. The heart sincerely yours
Shall dare the ordeal. But the man who flies
And flinches from the trial, loves you not.
Fear not that Virtue shall neglected live,
Neglected die, if woman's heart be cold
And cautious to engage. Wait for the man
Who merits much, and if none such appear
(For 'tis a world that scarce deserves your love)
Then live unwedded and unwedded die.
Scorn the contemptuous sneer of little minds,
Of wives who feel the yoke, and forward maids,
And dare be happy tho' ye live alone.
Regard the cautions of the friend at home,
For as pure gold surpasses tinsel, so
The friend at home exceeds the friend abroad.
Be dutiful, and ever as the plague
Shun discontent, the cruel foe of beauty.
She o'er the features of uneasy youth
Rides a consuming fire. Be all the charms
Of Eden spread before her, look behind
And nothing shall be seen but dismal waste.
Sweet Patience, daughter of the morning, seek.
Call, and she comes, and with her rosy Health,
Twin sisters, arm in arm. Be these, ye fair,
Your constant handmaids, ye shall need no grace.
They shall adorn you with unfading charms,
Among the lilies of the forehead plant
Composure sweeter than the smile of May,
And lasting as existence. They shall bring
Bloom to the cheek and crystal to the eye,
Mirth to the heart and music to the tongue.
Impatient of restraint, be subject still,
And dread the moment when a forward tongue
Shall prompt you to renounce the good advice
Of those who lead you. To the lover's voice
58
Look with a piercing eye thro' all his ways
At home, abroad. The heart sincerely yours
Shall dare the ordeal. But the man who flies
And flinches from the trial, loves you not.
Fear not that Virtue shall neglected live,
Neglected die, if woman's heart be cold
And cautious to engage. Wait for the man
Who merits much, and if none such appear
(For 'tis a world that scarce deserves your love)
Then live unwedded and unwedded die.
Scorn the contemptuous sneer of little minds,
Of wives who feel the yoke, and forward maids,
And dare be happy tho' ye live alone.
Regard the cautions of the friend at home,
For as pure gold surpasses tinsel, so
The friend at home exceeds the friend abroad.
Be dutiful, and ever as the plague
Shun discontent, the cruel foe of beauty.
She o'er the features of uneasy youth
59
Of Eden spread before her, look behind
And nothing shall be seen but dismal waste.
Sweet Patience, daughter of the morning, seek.
Call, and she comes, and with her rosy Health,
Twin sisters, arm in arm. Be these, ye fair,
Your constant handmaids, ye shall need no grace.
They shall adorn you with unfading charms,
Among the lilies of the forehead plant
Composure sweeter than the smile of May,
And lasting as existence. They shall bring
Bloom to the cheek and crystal to the eye,
Mirth to the heart and music to the tongue.
| Poems by the author of The Village Curate | |