XLVII.
He spoke, and music's sweetest tones
Are harsh, beyond compare,
To the celestial harmony
That floated in the air;
His voice in gentlest accents fell
In words of simplest guise;
Soft pity seemed to hold her throne
Within his beaming eyes,
As o'er the unconscious slumberer
He stretched his sheltering arm;
Each spirit owned, in silent awe,
The influence of the charm.
THE SPIRIT OF “THE BOOK.”
“Sleep, Son of Earth, who, in thy thoughtless age,
Hast sought for consolation in my page.
May its great lessons be on thee impressed;
May they have taken root within thy breast—
There wilt thou learn that in this world below
Man should assuage, and not increase, the woe
Which falls to mortal lot; Ah! happiest he
Who to each dispensation bows the knee;
In trial draws fresh comfort from on high,
Knowing that man must suffer ere he die;
Till, weaned by trouble from all earthly things,
He mounts to Heaven on Faith's upsoaring wings.
Sleep overtook thee lapped in Fancy's arms;
May'st thou awake to wisdom's purer charms;
E'en from thy youth (thanks to an angel gone;
To her may'st thou still prove a worthy son)
Thou hast been wont to seek for counsel here;
In thy ripe life may its full fruit appear:
May duty's laws a tenfold force acquire;
May each command a higher awe inspire;
May the instructions which those lips let fall
Be thy best guide, thy rule, thy all in all.
From sharp temptation mayst thou still be free:
Or strong, if tempted: gifted mayst thou be
With sense to feel the littleness of pride;
And, not too soon, thy sainted mother died.
Sad would it be to deem such efforts vain
To guide a son athwart life's thorny plain;
Say, spirits, nurtured thus, will this youth be
A limb of Satan or a child to me?”
THE SPIRIT OF INFIDELITY.
“A child of thine!” replied, with mocking laugh,
The spirit of the Infidel; “why, half
His soul is forfeit now; a child of thine!
Why, surely you forget his lordly line;
His ancestry—their place in history's page;
His father's pride, his wealth, his heritage;
What! shall the heir apparent of an Earl
Stoop to a marriage with a peasant girl?
Shall the bright blazon of eight hundred years
Be dimmed to save a yeoman's daughter's tears?
Though, sooth to say, if honest, fair descent
From sire to son in line direct were meant,
The yeoman has the peer upon the hip,
And might be hard on many a noble slip;
And all because this well-begotten youth
Has sipped the waters of the well of Truth;
Was, by his mother, taught to lisp his prayers,
And still preserves this trick of childish years;
No! I'm a sceptic in some things, 'tis true,
But, knowing the race, I almost doubt that you
Believe this possible. What! brave the sneer
Of all his tribe, e'en of some mushroom peer,
Who, gorged with city gains, aspires to be
A graft of England's old nobility.
Or failing this (the thing has oft been done),
The upstart fool may buy a lordly son;
Regild some bankrupt title, and essay
To infuse wealth's sap through drained nobility:
Why care for any failings in the man,
Though spendthrift, blackleg, rake, or fool, he can
Boast of his daughter's rank, and fairly, too;
For, having bought the title, 'tis his due:
And though, poor girl, she find, but all too late,
That happiness depends not upon state;
Or droop to earth, like some transplanted flower,
A victim to the largeness of her dower,
So she but leave a scion of the line,
Her sire content bows to the ‘will divine’;
Comforts himself with consolation trite;
Gravely remarks ‘whatever is is right’;
Marks the long train of carriages file by
(Their emptiness the type of sympathy),
While the proud marble, doomed her dust to hide,
Perpetuates his folly and his pride.
Pshaw! I turn chatterer, and all to prove
That pride and birth are enemies to love;
But when yon youth weds with a lowly bride,
I shall believe in all I have denied.”
