University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER I. INFANCY.

THE NURSE'S SOLILOQUY.

“Sweet Baby, sweet!—The joy I prove
“Is equal to a parent's love:
“For ah, those days I've not forgot,
“When it was my envied lot,
“Array'd in all her infant charms,
“To dance my Lady in these arms:
“But now she is a mother grown,
“And calls this bantling dear her own.
“In that same cradle, many a day,
“I've seen her stretch her arms and play;
“There have I sat, with watchful eye,
“And sooth'd her with my lullaby.
“With the same voice her pains beguil'd
“As I calm thine—thou lovely child!
“Her prattle, which I us'd to hear,
“Was sweetest music to my ear.
“—As time fled on, my nurseling grew
“Delightful to each gazer's view;
“And like the Summer's fairest flower,
“Encreas'd in beauty ev'ry hour;
“While goodness as we all can tell,
“Within her bosom seem'd to dwell.
“—Though I was humble, and was poor,
“She oft came to my cottage door.—
“‘I'm come, dear Nurse,’ she'd say, ‘to know
“If you want ought I can bestow:
“For, you may trust me, while I live,
“You shall want nothing I can give.’
“Then she would sit and chat awhile,
“And make my little dwelling smile.
“I bless'd the day when she was wed;
“I saw her to the altar led,
“By the rich Knight, whose power commands
“The wide extent of neighb'ring lands,
“Who then, his added wealth to crown,
“Could call those matchless charms his own.
“A veil half hid the blushing grace
“That play'd upon her lovely face:
“I thought an angel's form was seen,
“As she was led across the Green.
“Her flowing train with 'broidery bound,
“Of spangled silver swept the ground;
“And, as she mov'd with solemn tread,
“The proud plumes wav'd upon her head:
“White roses dress'd her bosom bare
“With opening leaves, but not so fair.
“—The maidens cull'd, at early day,
“Each flower, to deck the bridal way,
“With which wild nature clothes the fields,
“Or the well-cultur'd garden yields:
“All clad in white, their sweets they strow,
“And onward march'd, a pretty show;
“While the gay morrice-dancers bound
“As their feet give the tinkling sound.
“My kind, good man—but he is gone,
“And his head rests beneath a stone,
“Bore a fine streaming flag, which he
“Brought home, when he came last from sea.
“And was as proud as when he bore
“The well-won prize from hostile shore.
“—Full many a 'Squire and Lady fair
“Attended on the nuptial pair:
“On their fine clothes the sun-beams shone;
“Twas a grand sight to look upon!
“Our village such a noble train
“Ne'er saw before, nor will again.
“—In the church porch I took my stand,
“When the Bride smil'd and gave her hand,
“And thus address'd me as she pass'd:
“‘Dear Nurse, you've got your wish at last;’
“For in my talk, I us'd to say,
“I wish'd to see her wedding-day.
“O how the village steeple rung:
“What pleasure heard from ev'ry tongue!
“The may-pole was with garlands gay,
“The shepherd sung his roundelay;
“And many a maid and many a swain
“Forgot the labours of the plain.
“'Twas pleasure sure without alloy;—
“One chorus then of gen'ral joy.
“The music play'd, the healths went round,
“And nimble feet obey'd the sound;
“But in their joys I did not join
“Though they could never equal mine:
“With the white knot upon my breast
“I sigh'd, though on a day so blest.
“Then did I to my cottage go,
“And let the stream of pleasure flow:
“Never, from sorrow or from care,
“(And I, 'tis true, have had my share),
“Did on my cheeks such water fall,
“As on that happy Festival.
“For how, alas, my bosom bled
“When I beheld a daughter dead:
“When my affection could not save
“The best of husbands from the grave.
“But still, I had been taught to know
“That Life is mix'd with joy and woe;
“And, in the share that they are given,
“We ought to read the Will of Heaven.
“I then preferr'd my humble prayer
“For blessings on the honour'd pair;
“And that their bed might plenteous prove
“With the rich fruit of virtuous Love.
“I knew e'en such a prayer as mine
“Might reach the goodness all divine:
“Yes—it was heard, I plainly see:
“Yes, lovely Babe—it gave them thee.
“Oh, if kind Heaven, my Life would spare,
“To make a child of thine my care,
“No more I'd ask—but to be laid
“Beneath the church-yard yew-tree's shade.”
Thus, as the Dame let loose the story
Of all her past, and present glory:
For thus she'd talk, though all alone,
And no ear heard her but her own;
The Doctor wish'd to see the child—
The Babe was brought, the Doctor smil'd;
And thus th'obstetric Galen spoke:
A sage, grave man, who lov'd a joke.
Nurse.

Lady.
“Now, of this Curate and the Nurse,
“Whose worth his genius did rehearse,
“I have a curious wish to know
“All that your memory can bestow.”

Nurse.
“'Twas Betty Jenkins, and her name
“Has long been known to village fame;
“Nor will her humble virtues die
“Till all forget her Elegy.
“I know not scarce a cottage-wall,
“Where, or in print, or school-boy's scrawl,
“But there it is expos'd to view,
“While some have fram'd and glaz'd it too;
“And each Fair-day, 'tis always seen
“Among the ballads on the Green.
“—The Curate, Doctor, well you know,
“Is gone where all the good will go.
“You lov'd him, for you knew him well;
“And what a fate is his to tell!
“E'en though I feel o'erwhelm'd with joy,
“In clasping close this lovely Boy,
“I cannot stop the heaving sigh,
“When it comes 'cross my memory.”

Doctor.
“Madam,—before you saw the light,
“The Curate bade the world good night:
“He sunk beneath some secret pain
“Whose cause he never would explain:
“As the Nurse says, I lov'd him well,
“And oft entreated him to tell
“The cause of his deep-rooted woe,
“And why his tears should gush and flow.
“For oft, as we together sat
“In learned talk, or common chat,
“Sorrow its sudden course would take,
“And his heart beat as it would break;
“That heart, as I can truly tell.
“Where Goodness' self was known to dwell.
“—Whims, sometimes, would disguise his sense;
“But then they never gave offence:
“In them he dress'd Benevolence.
“Though Wisdom was his guiding rule
“He sometimes seem'd to play the fool:
“For such appear'd, to common eyes,
“His high-wrought sensibilities.
“He ev'ry path of Science trod,
“From Nature up to Nature's God:
“The truths that in the Gospel shine,
“He taught with energy divine.
“O, what a mind was his to own!
“What beams of genius in him shone!
“They flash'd, but as the lightnings glare,
“Heightened by clouds of gloomy care.
“—The old Beech, at the Green Lane's end,
“Sadly reminds me of my friend:
“There he would sit full many an hour,
“And Virgil's classic page devour.
“When on the mould'ring bridge I look,
“That throws its old arch o'er the brook,
“Where, with cross'd arms, he oft would seem
“To watch the eddies of the stream;
“Although so many years are past,
“Since I beheld him breathe his last,
“So much he does my mem'ry share,
“I almost think I see him there.
“—But see, my Lady B--- is come,
“And patients wait my going home:
“I leave to Nurse the tale to tell—
“She loves to talk, and knows it well.

Just then a high-bred, neighb'ring Dame,
To make her kind enquiries came:
“—My dearest friend, I wish you joy;
“O what a charming, bouncing boy!
“His father's nose, his mother's eyes!”
Then came those flippant Demi-Lies
Which tonish Dames, for Fashion's sake,
Know how so well to give and take.
She then, nor wanted a reply,
Broke forth with due loquacity.
“—I wish I could have neighbours' fare,
“For you have got a son and heir;
“But to my wish the will of Heaven
“Has nothing more than daughters given.
“The Girls are well enough, 'tis true,
“But I should like a Boy or two.
“Besides, my Lord will sometimes pout,
“Aye swear, and pace the room about;
“To think that his proud name may fail,
“For want, alas, of issue male.
“But e'er three moons their course have run
“Like you I may have got a son:
“For you must see, dear Lady Grace,
“That I am in a growing case;
“But hope I shall not have my call
“Till after the Election Ball.
“If Nature should be so unkind
“To order me to be confin'd,
“Just as the Country's running mad,
“When ev'ry eye and heart is glad;
“I must be sick, and shall be sad.
“—Dear Lady Susan's coming down,
“Perhaps you've heard, next week from town:
“'Tis strange, but though so lately married,
“All the world says she has miscarried.
“It may indeed, be said, her marriage
“With such a Fool, was a miscarriage.
“She'll treat the thing with scorn and scoff;
“I have no doubt, she'll laugh it off;
“For, whether it be false or true,
“'Tis that, at least, which I should do.
“I wonder'd, with her charms and spirit,
“She did not match with equal merit;
“But 'tis not worth one's while to weigh
“The whys and wherefores of the day.
“—You must have heard, my friend, of course,
“Of Mrs. Quickpace, and her horse:
“She loves to ride that fiery Tit,
“And always in a snaffle bit:
“It is a wild and vixen roan;
“A temper not unlike her own:
“Away it ran—but that's not all,—
“She had a very pretty fall.
“'Tis known she loves to shew her foot
“And ankle, in a stylish boot;
“But here I'm told, 'tis very shocking,
“The laughing hunters saw her stocking.
“Some officer, a man unknown,
“Just quarter'd in the neighb'ring town,
“Pick'd up the Lady from the mire;
“And now is seen her constant 'Squire:
“Nay, it is said, the country over
“That he's become her secret Lover.
“But I hate scandal—I can prove it;
“And you, dear Thing, I know don't love it.
“But this same caudle is so strong,
“It makes more glib my rattling tongue.
“—I do fatigue you, I believe,
“And therefore my Adieus receive;
“For no replies will you bestow,
“But a faint yes, and languid no.”
Away she pass'd, with easy grace,
And smile sarcastic on her face;
To claim elsewhere, some fresh attention
To stories, half her own invention.
Lady G---.
“Now that the curious Dame is gone,
“And we, dear Nurse, are left alone,
“In your own way, you will supply
“What you know of the History,
“Which the good Doctor S--- began,
“Of this extraordinary man!”

Nurse.

Lady ---.
“My dear, good Nurse, you reason well
“The art of Life is living well:
“In what is just, in what is true,
“The learn'd can do no more than you:
“The whole, when rightly understood,
“Is to shun ill, and to be good.
“—But now proceed, I pray, to show
“What yet remains for me to know.”

Nurse.
“A Gardener and his wife, those two
“Did all the Curate had to do:
“And, when he died, he left them clear
“Full five and twenty pounds a year.
“Throughout their service, they ne'er heard
“One harsh or discontented word:
“They always said, that, through the day,
“To them he cheerful seem'd, and gay;
“But sorrow, that tormenting sprite,
“Was wont to haunt him through the night;
“And oft his pillow did appear
“Bedew'd with many a secret tear.
“At length, reduc'd to skin and bone,
“He was a walking Skeleton;
“And all throughout the village said,
“He soon would sleep among the dead.
“One morn, but e'er the dawning light
“Had quite dispers'd the gloomy night,
“A shriek was on a sudden heard:
“The Gardener 'woke, and curs'd the bird,
“The screech-owl, whose ill-omen'd note
“With fatal augury fill'd its throat:
“'Tis worse, said Margery, I beshrew
“It was the griesly cock that crew.—
“Again I hear it, my good Dame,
“It from my Master's chamber came:
“My heart forbodes—and much I fear
“That Death himself is busy there.
“Soon did the taper's glimm'ring light
“Display the horrors of the night:
“The groan had broke his heart in twain;
“For he ne'er op'd his eyes again:
“Those eyes, alas, were clos'd by sorrow,
“And ne'er beheld another morrow.
“Strange things were said the village through,
“Nay, some there were who thought them true.
“I heard my Grandame say, the bell
“Rung from Church tower a dismal knell;
“Though the old Sexton stoutly swore
“No one had pass'd the Belfry door:
“The night was blust'ring, and her ear
“Might fancy sounds she did not hear.
“Others declar'd a horse was seen
“As white as snow upon the Green;
“And to his back that wings were given
“To bear the Curate's soul to Heaven.
“It was enough for us to know
“That he had left a world of woe:
“While we may trust his soul is blest
“In mansions of eternal rest.
“—The village wept throughout the day
“That gave him to the worms a prey:
“Grief on each eye in streamlets hung,
“And told its tale from ev'ry tongue.
“Your worthy Doctor, as he stood,
“Wip'd from his cheeks the trickling flood;
“The Rector fault'ring, scarce could read
“The prayers appointed for the dead;
“And, as he Dust to Dust consign'd,
“The dumb peal loiter'd in the wind.
“Upon the grave sweet flowers were seen
“Blending their bright leaves with the green:
“I wove a garland fresh and fair,
“Which bloom'd awhile, then wither'd there.”

Lady G---.
“But I suppose, good Nurse, you know
“Some hist'ry of this child of woe:
“What poignant, rooted cares oppress'd
“The deep recesses of his breast;
“And, e'er it reach'd meridian day,
“What caus'd his Life to waste away.
“He might th'unhappy cause conceal,
“But Death would every part reveal.”

Nurse.

Now she awhile in silence stood,
Till milder tones her words renew'd.
“—But let me check my passion's force,
“And stop the current in its course:
“Nor let a desp'rate tongue o'erflow
“With the dire sacrilege of woe:
“For, if the dead could converse hold
“With beings clad in mortal mould:
“Oh, if thy Spirit hover'd near
“To breath thy counsels in my ear,
“Would not its accents bid me live,
“Submit with patience—and forgive;
“Nor mourn thy lot in realms above
“Where Angels live, and Angels love;
“But nurse the Hope, when Life is o'er,
“To meet—where we shall part no more.
“All that the powers above ordain
“I'll bear, nor in a thought complain:
“Yes, I'll obey, as if I heard
“Thy heavenly Vision's warning word.
“Now, for a while, in mournful mood,
“She, like a marble statue stood,
“And, with one arm uplift in air,
“As if she breath'd a silent prayer:
“Then, having from the aged Yew,
“Pluck'd a small branch, she slow withdrew:
“But e'er the Church-yard gate she pass'd,
“Turning, as if to look her last.
“She rais'd her veil with solemn grace;
“When I beheld her charming face:
“It was, to make its beauty known—
“It was, as lovely as your own.
“—The horses which the carriage drew,
“Went off so swift as if they flew:
“And, indeed, this is all, I know
“Of the good Curate's tale of woe.
“—Were I to live, I well may say,
“Until the Resurrection Day,
“Nought from my mem'ry could remove
“His hapless Lot, who died for Love.”
Lady ---.

Nurse.

The Curate's Elegy on Nurse Jenkins.

Lady ---.