University of Virginia Library

The Carle of Invertime.

Who has not heard of a Carle uncouth,
The terror of age and the scorn of youth,
Well known in this and every clime
As the grim Gudeman of Invertime?—
A stern old porter who carries the key
That opens the gate to a strange country!
The Carle's old heart with joy is dancing,
When, down the valley he sees advancing
The lovely, the brave, the good, or the great,
To pay the sad toll of his darksome gate.
'Tis said nought gives such joy to him
As the freezing blood and the stiffening limb;
It has never been mine his house to scan,
So I scarce trow this of our grim Gudeman.
Wise men believe, yet I scarce know why,
That he grimly smiles as he shoves them by;
And cares not whither to isles of bliss
They go or to sorrow's dark wilderness;
Or if, driven afar, their fate should be
To toss on the waves of a shoreless sea;
Or sunk in lakes of surging flame,
Burning and boiling, and ever the same,
Where groups of mortals toss amain
On the sultry billow and down again.
Time, from the sky shall blot out the sun,
Yet ne'er will this den of dool have done.
It makes me shake and it makes me shiver;
His presence forbid it should last for ever!
Sad, wise, or witty—all find to their cost,
That the grim old Carle is still at his post:
He sits and he sees with joy elate,
In myriads men pour in at his gate.
Some come in gladness and joy to close
Account with Time, and sink to repose;
Some come in sorrow; they think, in sooth,
It hard to be summon'd in strength and youth.
There lady and losel, peasant and lord,
Men of the pen, the sermon, the sword,
The counsellor, leech, and the monarch sublime,
All come to the Carle of Invertime.
Amongst the others, one morning came
An aged and a venerable dame,
Stooping, and palsied, and pain'd to boot,
Moaning and shaking from head to foot.
Slow in her pace, yet steady of mind,
She turn'd not once, nor look'd behind;
Nor dreading nor daring her future fate,
She tottered along to the dismal gate.
A gleam of light danced in the eye
Of the grim Gudeman as the dame drew nigh;
Little cared he for an old gray wife,
Who hung like a link 'tween death and life;
But, by the side of the eldern dame,
A form so pure and so lovely came,
That the Carle's cold veinless heart heaved high,
A tear like an ice-drop came to his eye;
He vowed through his gate she should not win:
She seem'd no child of sorrow and sin.
As thus he stood in his porch to mark,
His looks now light and his looks now dark,
He marvell'd to hear so lovely a thing
Lift up her voice and gently sing
A strain, too holy, too sweet, and wild,
And charming to come from an earth-born child;
It glow'd with love, and fervour, and faith,
And seem'd to triumph o'er time and death:
“Great Fountain of Light,
And Spirit of Might,
To work thy will has been my delight;
And here at my knee,
From guiltiness free,
I bring a mild meek spirit to thee.
“When first I went to guide her to truth,
She was in the opening blossom of youth;
When scarce on her leaf, so spotless and new,
Ripe reason had come with her dropping dew.
Where life's pure river is but a rill,
She grew, and scarce knew good from ill;
But my sisters three
Came soon to me,
Pure Love, true Faith, sweet Charity.
Through doubts and fears,
These eighty years,
We have showed her the way to the heavenly spheres.
Our first stage down life's infant stream
Was all a maze and a childish dream;
And nought was there of sin or sense,
But dawning beauty and innocence;
A fairy dance of sweet delight,
Through flowers, and bowers, and visions bright.
Sometimes a hymn, and sometimes a prayer,
Was poured to thee with a fervent air;
'Twas sung or said, and straight was seen
The sweet child gamboling on the green;
While the pure hymn, late pour'd to thee,
Was chanted light as a song of glee.
“As we went down the vale of life,
With flowers the road became less rife.
By pitfall, precipice, and pool,
Our way was shaped, by line and rule.
'Mid hours of joy and days of mirth,
And hopes and fears, high thoughts had birth,
And natural yearnings of the mind,
Of something onward, undefined—
Which scarce the trembling soul durst scan—
Of God's most wondrous love to man,
And some far forward state of bliss,
Of beauty, and of holiness;
But to all woes and evils blinded,
Or thoughts of death, unless reminded.
Oh! happy age, remember'd well,
Where neither sin nor shame can dwell!
Even then thine eye,
From heaven high,
Saw that her monitor was nigh;
At morn and even,
To turn to heaven
The grateful eye for blessings given.
And from the first prevailing tide
Of sin, and vanity, and pride,
To save her, and to lead her on
To glories unreveal'd, unknown.
“Onward we came; life's streamlet then
Enter'd a green and odorous glen;
Increased, and through fair flowrets rolling,
And shady bowers, seem'd past controlling;
Flowing 'mid roses, fast and free—
This was a trying stage for me!
The maiden's youthful heart began
To dance through scenes Elysian;
To breathe in love's ambrosial dew,
Moved by sensations sweet and new;
For, without look or word of blame,
Her radiant blushes went and came;
Her eye, of heaven's own azure blue,
In glance and lustre brighter grew;
Showing fond feelings all akin
To that pure soul which lived within.
“With heart so soft and soul sincere,
Love found his way by eye and ear.
Then how I labour'd, day and night,
To watch her ways and guide her right!
I brought cool airs from paradise
To purify her melting sighs;
I steep'd my vail in heaven's own spring,
And o'er her watch'd on silent wing;
And, when she laid her down to rest,
I spread the vail o'er her virgin breast:
All earthly passions far did flee,
And heart and soul she turn'd to thee.
“Throughout her life
Of wedded wife,
I wean'd her soul from passion's strife;
But oh! what fears,
And frequent tears
For the peril of childhood's tender years!
And when her firstborn's feeble moan
Was hushed by the soul's departing groan;
In that hour of maternal grief,
I pointed her way to the sole relief.
Another sweet babe there came and went—
Her gushing eyes she fix'd, and bent
Upon that mansion bright and sweet,
Where sever'd and kindred spirits meet.
“She has wept for the living, and wept for the dead,
Laid low in the grave her husband's head;
She has toil'd for bread with the hands of age,
And, through her useful pilgrimage,
Has seen her race sink, one by one—
All, all she loved—yet, left and lone,
With cheer unchanged, with heart unshook,
On God she fix'd her steadfast look.
And now with the eye of purest faith,
She sees, beyond the vale of death,
A day that has no cloud or shower—
She has less dread of her parting hour,
Than ever had babe of its mother's breast,
When it lays its innocent head to rest.
“O Maker of Earth, dread Ruler above,
Receive her spirit, her faith approve!
A tenderer mother, a nobler wife,
Ne'er waged, 'gainst earth and its sorrows, strife;
I never can bid a form arise
With purer heart than hers to the skies.”