A Day in the Woods A Connected Series of Tales and Poems. By Thomas Miller |
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THE NIGHT-WALK WITH THE DYING |
 | A Day in the Woods |  |
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THE NIGHT-WALK WITH THE DYING
It is no fiction I record,
No common tale I pen,
But misery—O! woe is me,
Alone from other men!
No common tale I pen,
But misery—O! woe is me,
Alone from other men!
Alone, alone! I've been alone,
Where no house you could see,—
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
A dying man with me!
Where no house you could see,—
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
A dying man with me!
And we set out at early morn;
The sun all glorious shone;—
We journeyed on, light-hearted men,
But I returned alone.
The sun all glorious shone;—
We journeyed on, light-hearted men,
But I returned alone.
I saw him take his fond wife's hand,
And kiss his little child,—
Joy beamed like sunshine from their eyes,
While hope serenely smiled.
And kiss his little child,—
Joy beamed like sunshine from their eyes,
While hope serenely smiled.
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I heard those last heart rending words,
That yet sound like a knell;—
“Good bye!” “good bye!” and on we went,
By many a dale and dell.
That yet sound like a knell;—
“Good bye!” “good bye!” and on we went,
By many a dale and dell.
Our steps were light as mountain doe's,—
The sun, the morn, the flowers,
Drove care from off his leaden throne,—
No hearts more blythe than ours.
The sun, the morn, the flowers,
Drove care from off his leaden throne,—
No hearts more blythe than ours.
Our course lay through sweet fertile fields,
Our path was crowned with trees;
The merry birds sang jovially,
And loudly hummed the bees.
Our path was crowned with trees;
The merry birds sang jovially,
And loudly hummed the bees.
The golden god stood in the sky,
As if he had unfurled
His brightest ray, that seemed to say,
Death dwells not in the world!
As if he had unfurled
His brightest ray, that seemed to say,
Death dwells not in the world!
He could not dwell amid those fields,
Where flowers were seen to bloom,
Nor bask on banks with woodbines crowned,
Ah, no! he loves the gloom!
Where flowers were seen to bloom,
Nor bask on banks with woodbines crowned,
Ah, no! he loves the gloom!
And who could deem, when eyes were bright,
And hope went whispering on,—
From street to street, from town to town,—
“The pest, the pest is gone?”
And hope went whispering on,—
From street to street, from town to town,—
“The pest, the pest is gone?”
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And who could deem, that saw those flowers
In blue and crimson wave,—
Or felt that health-winged morning breeze,
That they were near the grave?
In blue and crimson wave,—
Or felt that health-winged morning breeze,
That they were near the grave?
And who could deem, that heard those brooks,
Soft-rolling gurgle by;
And saw those little fishes glide,
That aught that day could die?
Soft-rolling gurgle by;
And saw those little fishes glide,
That aught that day could die?
That death had grasped his deadliest dart,
And rose with morning light,
With us to cross those fragrant fields,
And count our steps till night?
And rose with morning light,
With us to cross those fragrant fields,
And count our steps till night?
We felt as free as unchained winds,
As o'er that heath we strayed;
A shepherd boy lay on the grass,
And with his fond dog played.
As o'er that heath we strayed;
A shepherd boy lay on the grass,
And with his fond dog played.
The milk-maid smiled, and looked askance,
When asked “to be a bride,”
As she tript gaily with her pail,
And we walked by her side.
When asked “to be a bride,”
As she tript gaily with her pail,
And we walked by her side.
We could not deem we were alone,
When trees were green and gay,—
For nature hummed her thousand songs,
On that fair sunny day.
When trees were green and gay,—
For nature hummed her thousand songs,
On that fair sunny day.
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On, on, we went,—care was forgot,
In Summer's golden store;
'Tis when alone amid her wealth,
We feel no longer poor.
In Summer's golden store;
'Tis when alone amid her wealth,
We feel no longer poor.
At length we reached our journey's end,
Mine host brought out good cheer;—
Pledged us in home-brewed sparkling ale,
And cried, “You're welcome here.”
Mine host brought out good cheer;—
Pledged us in home-brewed sparkling ale,
And cried, “You're welcome here.”
Lo! the companion of my walk,
Th' untasted cup doth hold,
And looking thoughtful on the floor,
Shivers with inward cold.
Th' untasted cup doth hold,
And looking thoughtful on the floor,
Shivers with inward cold.
Said he, “I'll go down Abbey-lane,
And up by Newstead-wood,—
Give me ‘Childe Harold’ to peruse,
The walk will warm my blood.”
And up by Newstead-wood,—
Give me ‘Childe Harold’ to peruse,
The walk will warm my blood.”
No doubt he deemed the sun and flowers
His spirits would revive;—
In sooth it was a charming day,
All Nature seemed alive.
His spirits would revive;—
In sooth it was a charming day,
All Nature seemed alive.
And where that spire gazed on the sky
Childe Harold's corse was laid,—
And o'er the wood those towers were seen
Which Time's cold hand hath greyed.
Childe Harold's corse was laid,—
And o'er the wood those towers were seen
Which Time's cold hand hath greyed.
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And he now walked those far-famed fields
Where Byron oft had been,—
Trod the same twilight forest paths,
And deep dells darkly green.
Where Byron oft had been,—
Trod the same twilight forest paths,
And deep dells darkly green.
He came not back until the sun
Sunk down o'er Annesly hill;
His looks proclaimed his dreadful state,
He said, “My heart is chill.”
Sunk down o'er Annesly hill;
His looks proclaimed his dreadful state,
He said, “My heart is chill.”
I saw his sadly sunken face,
And marked each ghastly eye;
And spake—but then I knew not what,
And he made no reply.
And marked each ghastly eye;
And spake—but then I knew not what,
And he made no reply.
The sun had set, the sky looked black,
Our hostess beds prepared;—
“O, no!” said he, “I must go home,”
And wildly round he stared.
Our hostess beds prepared;—
“O, no!” said he, “I must go home,”
And wildly round he stared.
“I must go home,—I'm better now,—
But thirsty—give me drink:
Were I to stay away all night,
O! what would Mary think?”
But thirsty—give me drink:
Were I to stay away all night,
O! what would Mary think?”
I argued the long dreary miles,—
I heard the pelting rain,—
I spoke of darkness, and the heath,
Alas! 'twas all in vain.
I heard the pelting rain,—
I spoke of darkness, and the heath,
Alas! 'twas all in vain.
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“And canst thou walk six dreary miles,
So ill as thou dost seem?”
“I must,” he cried, “I will!—my wife!—
O! I have had a dream!
So ill as thou dost seem?”
“I must,” he cried, “I will!—my wife!—
O! I have had a dream!
“Though I am ill,—and very ill,
My wife will wait on me;
Fear not, we soon shall walk six miles,”—
So onward journeyed we.
My wife will wait on me;
Fear not, we soon shall walk six miles,”—
So onward journeyed we.
The night was dark, the rain fell fast,
His home then filled his mind,—
He walked as one who walks for life;
I followed close behind.
His home then filled his mind,—
He walked as one who walks for life;
I followed close behind.
On, on, we went, a dreary mile,
Adown a dark wild lane,—
Until he staggered to and fro,
And could not walk for pain.
Adown a dark wild lane,—
Until he staggered to and fro,
And could not walk for pain.
There was a house, a low lone house,
The last we had to pass,
Before we entered that wide heath,
Where fern o'ertops the grass.
The last we had to pass,
Before we entered that wide heath,
Where fern o'ertops the grass.
He bade me once more fetch him drink,
To cool his parched tongue;
I drew it from that cold deep well;
He o'er the white gate hung.
To cool his parched tongue;
I drew it from that cold deep well;
He o'er the white gate hung.
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The cottager came out to see,
And sadly shook his head,—
No doubt he deemed Death's hand was there,
But not a word he said.
And sadly shook his head,—
No doubt he deemed Death's hand was there,
But not a word he said.
And now upon that wide wild heath
None others could you see;
Alone, alone, we journeyed on,—
A dying man with me!
None others could you see;
Alone, alone, we journeyed on,—
A dying man with me!
Nor house nor solitary cot
On that lone heath did stand,—
The rush, the fern, and armed furze
Grew, emblems of the land.
On that lone heath did stand,—
The rush, the fern, and armed furze
Grew, emblems of the land.
Upon my arm he heavy hung,—
Away we went, tramp, tramp;
But, O! we had not journeyed far,
Before he cried, “The cramp!”
Away we went, tramp, tramp;
But, O! we had not journeyed far,
Before he cried, “The cramp!”
I kneh amid the golden-broom,
Among the forest flowers,
And rubbed his chilly knotted-limbs,—
The heath was drenched with showers.
Among the forest flowers,
And rubbed his chilly knotted-limbs,—
The heath was drenched with showers.
Then on we went, across the wild,
Or stopped as fresh pangs came;
Sometimes he muttered to himself
His far-off Mary's name.
Or stopped as fresh pangs came;
Sometimes he muttered to himself
His far-off Mary's name.
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At length the moon broke through a cloud,
And o'er the wild plain shone,—
The rain drops gleamed on heather bells,
Like gems around a throne.
And o'er the wild plain shone,—
The rain drops gleamed on heather bells,
Like gems around a throne.
Said I, his gloomy thoughts to chase:
“The moon shines bright, dost see?”
He turned his eyes to look, then said,
“She'll smile no more on me.”
“The moon shines bright, dost see?”
He turned his eyes to look, then said,
“She'll smile no more on me.”
He stood and paused a little while,
But not a word spake he,—
And then upstarted, as men start
From idle reverie,
But not a word spake he,—
And then upstarted, as men start
From idle reverie,
And seized me firmly by the arm:
“Dost think that moon,” said he,
“Contains our souls when we are dead,
Or where can heaven be?”
“Dost think that moon,” said he,
“Contains our souls when we are dead,
Or where can heaven be?”
And then he muttered, “Wife and child!”
Ah me! I knew his fears;—
And glancing sidelong at his face,
Saw the fast-rolling tears.
Ah me! I knew his fears;—
And glancing sidelong at his face,
Saw the fast-rolling tears.
“And dost thou think we meet our kin
In heaven?—O God! this pain!”—
Then down I knelt on that wide heath,
And rubbed his limbs again.
In heaven?—O God! this pain!”—
Then down I knelt on that wide heath,
And rubbed his limbs again.
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“We must reach home, on—on,” he cried,
His look was wild and stern,—
He walked as if he'd tramp on Death,
Then fell amid the fern.—
His look was wild and stern,—
He walked as if he'd tramp on Death,
Then fell amid the fern.—
And there he lay, on that wild heath,
Among the heathery bloom;
The broad blue sky his canopy,
His couch, the furze and broom.
Among the heathery bloom;
The broad blue sky his canopy,
His couch, the furze and broom.
His hands were clenched, his lips were black,
His face was dark likewise;
His cheeks had fallen frightfully,
But O his ghastly eyes,
His face was dark likewise;
His cheeks had fallen frightfully,
But O his ghastly eyes,
Rolling upon the pale white moon,
Then glaringly on me!—
Stretched groaning on a wide wild heath,—
'Twas dreadful, but to see!
Then glaringly on me!—
Stretched groaning on a wide wild heath,—
'Twas dreadful, but to see!
Again I bore him from the ground,
Ah! deeply did he sigh,—
And bowed his head, and feebly said,
“But wait, I soon shall die!”
Ah! deeply did he sigh,—
And bowed his head, and feebly said,
“But wait, I soon shall die!”
He ground his teeth,—it was not rage,
But that deep writhing pain
That thickened his slow-pacing blood,
And racked his burning brain.
But that deep writhing pain
That thickened his slow-pacing blood,
And racked his burning brain.
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Two dreary miles, two dreary miles,
As yet we had but come;
And we four more must traverse o'er,
Before we reach his home.
As yet we had but come;
And we four more must traverse o'er,
Before we reach his home.
“And dost thou think, thou dying man,
With eyes so ghastly wild,
That thou shalt see thy waiting wife,
Or kiss thy listening child?
With eyes so ghastly wild,
That thou shalt see thy waiting wife,
Or kiss thy listening child?
“Ah, no! ah, no! thou dying man,
Death's near,—it cannot be,—
Thou shalt not kiss thy listening child,
Nor yet thy dear wife see.
Death's near,—it cannot be,—
Thou shalt not kiss thy listening child,
Nor yet thy dear wife see.
“Thy mother in yon village lives,
That from us yet doth lie
A dreary mile; she knoweth not,
Thou'rt coming there to die.”
That from us yet doth lie
A dreary mile; she knoweth not,
Thou'rt coming there to die.”
Tramp, tramp,—on, on, away went we,
O'er fern, and piercing goss;
We crushed the broom beneath our feet,
And trampled deep the moss.
O'er fern, and piercing goss;
We crushed the broom beneath our feet,
And trampled deep the moss.
We left that heath, o'er which at morn,
We had so blithely strayed;
But where were now the sun and flowers,
And fish that gladly played?
We had so blithely strayed;
But where were now the sun and flowers,
And fish that gladly played?
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As on I went, I thought awhile
Of tidings I must bear
To that lone widow, who for him,
Would let fall many a tear.
Of tidings I must bear
To that lone widow, who for him,
Would let fall many a tear.
Ah me! thought I, and thou wilt up
Like bird from bosky-bourn;
And gladly open wide thy door,
To welcome his return.
Like bird from bosky-bourn;
And gladly open wide thy door,
To welcome his return.
And yet I must the sad news tell,
My heart was beating sore,
And O! my hand struck tremblingly,
The panels of that door.
My heart was beating sore,
And O! my hand struck tremblingly,
The panels of that door.
What could it mean?—all still within,
Loudly I knocked again;
A woman from a window looked,
And cried, “You knock in vain.”
Loudly I knocked again;
A woman from a window looked,
And cried, “You knock in vain.”
“You knock in vain!” what could she mean?
I stood in the moonlight,—
“You knock in vain, there's no one there,—
That woman died last night.
I stood in the moonlight,—
“You knock in vain, there's no one there,—
That woman died last night.
“Has not her husband come?” said she;
The tears gushed from my eyes;
“Ah, no!” said I, “he'll come no more,
For low in death he lies.”
The tears gushed from my eyes;
“Ah, no!” said I, “he'll come no more,
For low in death he lies.”
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“Oh God!” she cried, the window closed,
But no more sleep had she,—
I heard her husband say, “Oh God!”
There was no soul with me.
But no more sleep had she,—
I heard her husband say, “Oh God!”
There was no soul with me.
And Death had all things cleared away,—
All fears how I should tell
My tidings in the softest way,
And what to him befell.
All fears how I should tell
My tidings in the softest way,
And what to him befell.
All pensively, I sought my couch,
But ah! no rest could find:
The heath,—the moon,—the dying man,
Alone absorbed my mind.
But ah! no rest could find:
The heath,—the moon,—the dying man,
Alone absorbed my mind.
Alone! alone! I've been alone,
Where no house you could see;
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
And a dying man with me.
Where no house you could see;
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
And a dying man with me.
| A Day in the Woods | |