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88
ELLEN GRAY.
I
'Twas May-day morn, nor had a lovelier dayFrom out the eastern chambers e'er been given:
The lark had left the heath, and flown away,
Singing into the clear blue vault of heaven;
The bee went round to tell the flowers 'twas May,
The breeze and sunshine o'er the brook had driven,
Earth laughed with joy, the solemn wood looked gay,
As if its echoes yet might answer, “Ellen Gray.”
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II
Slow moving from a woodbined-cottage door,A mournful group in tear-bathed silence came;
Six white-robed village-maids a coffin bore,
Their pallid cheeks did their deep grief proclaim;
Each on her bosom a pale lily wore,
An emblem of that virgin spotless fame;
A white pet-lamb followed a little way,
And by its bleatings seemed to call for Ellen Gray.
III
But there was one who loved—Oh! where was he?That night she died, from home he frantic fled,
And in the wood, beneath the well-known tree,
On the old moss he laid his aching head,
And thus he answered to the bird, or bee:
“Ye need not come here now, for she is dead!
Her hands were cold! she never spoke all day:”
Then would he pluck a flower, and call it Ellen Gray.
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IV
They passed the May-pole—but not thoughtless by,—The last year's garlands hung all withered there;
They had no colours then, to catch the eye,
Yet many an eye gazed on them through a tear;
Blossom, and bud, and bell, and leaf were dry,
Time's crumbling hand had left them brown and sere:
Twelve months ago they decked the Queen of May,
And who? oh! who was she? They answered “Ellen Gray!”
V
Twelve months ago—and they were blooming thereLovely as she—then oaken bowers were seen,
And laugh, and shout, and song, rose loud and clear,
And light feet danced adown the daisied green,
And soft cloud-sounding music soothed the ear;
And smiles were showered upon their beauteous queen,
And young and old did willing homage pay
Before the flowery throne, graced by fair Ellen Gray.
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VI
They reached the church! the aisle looked dim and cold,The columns' dreary shadows longer grew;
The old gray roof had never seemed so old;
The full-cheeked angels stood as if they blew
Their stony trumpets, and the dull bell tolled
In sadder tones; the deep-stained window threw
A dying splendour round; the echoes lay
Silent and mute as death, listening for Ellen Gray.
VII
The earth fell hollow on her coffin lid:Who hath not felt that fall? The funeral bell
Brought not such wailing woe as that sound did,—
It was indeed the eternal long farewell,—
The grave's last darkness. Age and name were hid,
And on the mould the tears in silence fell;
Just then a blackbird's song rose loud and gay,
And to our ears brought back the voice of Ellen Gray.
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VIII
A hoary elm arose above her grave,Whose boughs oft bore the silvery-footed showers;
On these the gaudy garlands drooping wave,
Though destined to be worn in happier hours;
But Death the loveliest trophies still doth crave:
They decked her lowly tomb with choicest flowers,
And in that still churchyard till night did stay,
And watered with their tears the grave of Ellen Gray.
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