Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
 |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. | SCENE III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | Old Year Leaves |  |
70
SCENE III.
A dull autumn morning. Alethea at a window looking out on the depressing prospect. Time.—Several months after.Alethea.
The blow is softened now by kindly Time,
And I can breathe again. On this the day
Poor Edgar starts for clearer sunnier skies
I first can ponder on these dreary weeks
Which lately heavily have passed away.
How different from the glad and trustful days
I thought they would have proved!
And I can breathe again. On this the day
Poor Edgar starts for clearer sunnier skies
I first can ponder on these dreary weeks
Which lately heavily have passed away.
How different from the glad and trustful days
I thought they would have proved!
When first I heard
That he was stricken by a sickness sore,
A sickness nigh to death, I scarcely felt
Deep sorrow, but a paralysing pain
My senses dulled. I had no power to think,
And life seemed dead within me; but at length
Came slowly back to me the happy thought,
Yes—happy even 'mid such grief as mine:
My loved one needed help, and oh what joy
Was mine to give it, and I almost blessed
The form of his distress, that at the least
It did not keep me from him. For what woe
Unspeakable must be endured by those
Whose loved ones have been smitten, and who know
That they are suffering helpless and alone,
And that the same disease which tortures keeps
Apart from them the dear ones whose kind voice
And sympathetic touch is their chief stay.
If such a case of misery were mine,
Contagion's direst mischief I would brave
If I could thereby comfort those I love.
That he was stricken by a sickness sore,
A sickness nigh to death, I scarcely felt
Deep sorrow, but a paralysing pain
My senses dulled. I had no power to think,
And life seemed dead within me; but at length
Came slowly back to me the happy thought,
71
My loved one needed help, and oh what joy
Was mine to give it, and I almost blessed
The form of his distress, that at the least
It did not keep me from him. For what woe
Unspeakable must be endured by those
Whose loved ones have been smitten, and who know
That they are suffering helpless and alone,
And that the same disease which tortures keeps
Apart from them the dear ones whose kind voice
And sympathetic touch is their chief stay.
If such a case of misery were mine,
Contagion's direst mischief I would brave
If I could thereby comfort those I love.
A chill received when heated and fatigued
One day in Summer's youth-time (when the breeze
Had Winter's breath still on it) was enough
To lay my Edgar low. Physicians came
And went, with faces grave and measured tread;
The case was serious, they said, and none
Could tell the issue. They were clever men
Nor meant to be unkind; yet when I saw
Them watch his pangs of pain and laboured breathing
With interest all professional and cold,
It wellnigh made me mad.
One day in Summer's youth-time (when the breeze
Had Winter's breath still on it) was enough
To lay my Edgar low. Physicians came
And went, with faces grave and measured tread;
The case was serious, they said, and none
Could tell the issue. They were clever men
72
Them watch his pangs of pain and laboured breathing
With interest all professional and cold,
It wellnigh made me mad.
The crisis came
And passed;—the point once turned, he slowly gained
A little strength. The cautious doctors said
His youth would grapple on the side of life,
And he might yet recover. But for him
Should be no more of hard and brain-wrought toil
Or anxious eager thought:—his life must pass
In quiet,—and his winters he must spend
For several years abroad. Thus he will leave
Chill England's shores to-day. Ah cruel blast
And muddy cold grey sky that drives him from me!
Oh callous North-wind, couldst thou not restrain
Thy blighting force and let my darling live
In the same land as I? Life-giving Sun,
Oh why dost thou not shine, when, if thou didst,
It would rejoice so many yearning hearts!
And passed;—the point once turned, he slowly gained
A little strength. The cautious doctors said
His youth would grapple on the side of life,
And he might yet recover. But for him
Should be no more of hard and brain-wrought toil
Or anxious eager thought:—his life must pass
In quiet,—and his winters he must spend
For several years abroad. Thus he will leave
Chill England's shores to-day. Ah cruel blast
And muddy cold grey sky that drives him from me!
Oh callous North-wind, couldst thou not restrain
Thy blighting force and let my darling live
In the same land as I? Life-giving Sun,
Oh why dost thou not shine, when, if thou didst,
It would rejoice so many yearning hearts!
| Old Year Leaves | |