 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
294
MY EVENING.
Farewell, bright Sun! mine eyes have watched
Thine hour of waning light;
And tender twilight! fare-thee-well—
And welcome star-crowned night!
Thine hour of waning light;
And tender twilight! fare-thee-well—
And welcome star-crowned night!
Pale, serious, silent, with deep spell
Lulling the heart to rest,
As lulls the mother's low sweet song
The infant on her breast.
Lulling the heart to rest,
As lulls the mother's low sweet song
The infant on her breast.
Mine own belovèd hour!—mine own!
Sacred to quiet thought,
To sacred memories, to calm joys,
With no false lustre fraught!
Sacred to quiet thought,
To sacred memories, to calm joys,
With no false lustre fraught!
Mine own belovèd hour! for now,
Methinks, with garish day
I shut the world out, and with those
Long lost, or far away,
Methinks, with garish day
I shut the world out, and with those
Long lost, or far away,
The dead, the absent, once again
My soul holds converse free—
To such illusions, Life! how dull
Thy best reality!
My soul holds converse free—
To such illusions, Life! how dull
Thy best reality!
The vernal nights are chilly yet,
And cheerily and bright
The hearth still blazes, flashing round
Its ruddy, flickering light.
And cheerily and bright
The hearth still blazes, flashing round
Its ruddy, flickering light.
295
“Bring in the lamp—so—set it there,
Just show its veilèd ray
(Leaving all else in shadowy tone)
Fallen on my book—and—stay—
Just show its veilèd ray
(Leaving all else in shadowy tone)
Fallen on my book—and—stay—
“Leave my work by me”—Well I love
The needle's useful art;
'Tis unambitious—womanly—
And mine's a woman's heart.
The needle's useful art;
'Tis unambitious—womanly—
And mine's a woman's heart.
Not that I ply with sempstress rage,
As if for life or bread;
No, sooth to say—unconsciously
Slackening the half-drawn thread,
As if for life or bread;
No, sooth to say—unconsciously
Slackening the half-drawn thread,
From fingers that, as spell-bound, stop,
Pointing the needle wrong,
Mine eyes towards the open book
Stray oft, and tarry long.
Pointing the needle wrong,
Mine eyes towards the open book
Stray oft, and tarry long.
“Stop, stop! Leave open the glass-door
Into that winter bower;”
For soon therein the uprisen moon
Will pour her silvery shower;
Into that winter bower;”
For soon therein the uprisen moon
Will pour her silvery shower;
Will glitter on those glossy leaves;
On that white pavement shine;
And dally with her eastern love,
That wreathing jessamine.
On that white pavement shine;
And dally with her eastern love,
That wreathing jessamine.
“Thanks, Lizzy! No; there's nothing more
Thy loving zeal can do;
Only—oh yes!—that gipsy flower,
Set that beside me too.”—
Thy loving zeal can do;
Only—oh yes!—that gipsy flower,
Set that beside me too.”—
296
“That Ethiop, in its china vase?”—
“Ay, set it here;—that's right.
Shut the door after you.”—'Tis done;
I'm settled for the night.
“Ay, set it here;—that's right.
Shut the door after you.”—'Tis done;
I'm settled for the night.
Settled and snug;—and first, as if
The fact to ascertain,
I glance around, and stir the fire,
And trim the lamp again.
The fact to ascertain,
I glance around, and stir the fire,
And trim the lamp again.
Then, dusky flower! I stoop to inhale
Thy fragrance. Thou art one
That wooeth not the vulgar eye,
Nor the broad staring sun;
Thy fragrance. Thou art one
That wooeth not the vulgar eye,
Nor the broad staring sun;
Therefore I love thee!—Selfish love
Such preference may be;—
That thou reservest all thy sweets,
Coy thing! for night and me.
Such preference may be;—
That thou reservest all thy sweets,
Coy thing! for night and me.
What sound was that? Ah, Madam Puss!
I know that tender mew—
That meek, white face—those sea-green eyes—
Those whiskers, wet with dew,
I know that tender mew—
That meek, white face—those sea-green eyes—
Those whiskers, wet with dew,
To the cold glass—the greenhouse glass—
Pressed closely from without;
Well, thou art heard—I'll let thee in,
Though skulking home, no doubt,
Pressed closely from without;
Well, thou art heard—I'll let thee in,
Though skulking home, no doubt,
From lawless prowl.—Ah, ruthless cat!
What evil hast thou done?
What deeds of rapine, the broad eye
Of open day that shun?
What evil hast thou done?
What deeds of rapine, the broad eye
Of open day that shun?
297
What! not a feather plucked to-night?
Is that what thou wouldst tell
With that soft pur, those winking eyes,
And waving tail?—Well, well,
Is that what thou wouldst tell
With that soft pur, those winking eyes,
And waving tail?—Well, well,
I know thee, friend!—But get thee in,
By Ranger stretch and doze;
Nay, never growl, old man! her tail
Just whisked across thy nose.
By Ranger stretch and doze;
Nay, never growl, old man! her tail
Just whisked across thy nose.
But 'twas no act premeditate,
Thy greatness to molest:
Then, with that long luxurious sigh,
Sink down again to rest;
Thy greatness to molest:
Then, with that long luxurious sigh,
Sink down again to rest;
But not before one loving look
Toward me, with that long sigh,
Says, “Mistress mine! all's right, all's well!
Thou'rt there, and here am I!”—
Toward me, with that long sigh,
Says, “Mistress mine! all's right, all's well!
Thou'rt there, and here am I!”—
That point at rest, we're still again.
I on my work intent;
At least, with poring eyes thereon,
In seeming earnest bent;
I on my work intent;
At least, with poring eyes thereon,
In seeming earnest bent;
And fingers, nimble at their task,
Mechanically true;
Though heaven knows where, what scenes, the while,
My thoughts are travelling to!
Mechanically true;
Though heaven knows where, what scenes, the while,
My thoughts are travelling to!
Now far from earth—now over earth,
Traversing lands and seas;—
Now stringing, in a sing-song mood,
Such idle rhymes as these;—
Traversing lands and seas;—
Now stringing, in a sing-song mood,
Such idle rhymes as these;—
298
Now dwelling on departed days—
Ah! that's no lightsome mood;—
On those to come—no longer now
Through Hope's bright focus viewed.
Ah! that's no lightsome mood;—
On those to come—no longer now
Through Hope's bright focus viewed.
On that which is—ay, there I pause,
No more in young delight;
But patient, grateful, well assured,
“Whatever is, is right!”
No more in young delight;
But patient, grateful, well assured,
“Whatever is, is right!”
And all to be is in His hands—
Oh, who would take it thence?
Give me not up to mine own will,
Merciful Providence!
Oh, who would take it thence?
Give me not up to mine own will,
Merciful Providence!
Such thought, when other thoughts, may-be,
Are darkening into gloom,
Comes to me like the angel shape,
That, standing by the tomb,
Are darkening into gloom,
Comes to me like the angel shape,
That, standing by the tomb,
Cheered those who came to sorrow there.—
And then I see and bless
His love in all that He withholds,
And all I still possess.
And then I see and bless
His love in all that He withholds,
And all I still possess.
So varied—now with book, or work,
Or pensive reverie,
Or waking dreams, or fancy flights,
Or scribbling vein, may be;
Or pensive reverie,
Or waking dreams, or fancy flights,
Or scribbling vein, may be;
Or eke the pencil's cunning craft,
Or lowly murmured lay
To the according viola—
Calm evening slips away.
Or lowly murmured lay
To the according viola—
Calm evening slips away.
299
The felt-shod hours move swiftly on,
Until the stroke of ten—
The accustomed signal—summons round
My little household. Then,
Until the stroke of ten—
The accustomed signal—summons round
My little household. Then,
The door unclosing, enters first
That aged faithful friend,
Whose prayer is with her master's child
Her blameless days to end.
That aged faithful friend,
Whose prayer is with her master's child
Her blameless days to end.
The younger pair come close behind;
But her dear hand alone—
Her dear old hand! now tremulous
With palsying weakness grown—
But her dear hand alone—
Her dear old hand! now tremulous
With palsying weakness grown—
Must reverently before me place
The Sacred Book. 'Tis there—
And all our voices, all our hearts,
Unite in solemn prayer.
The Sacred Book. 'Tis there—
And all our voices, all our hearts,
Unite in solemn prayer.
In praise and thanksgiving, for all
The blessings of the light;
In prayer, that He would keep us through
The watches of the night.
The blessings of the light;
In prayer, that He would keep us through
The watches of the night.
A simple rite! and soon performed;
Leaving, in every breast,
A heart more fittingly prepared
For sweet, untroubled rest.
Leaving, in every breast,
A heart more fittingly prepared
For sweet, untroubled rest.
And so we part.—But not before,
Dear nurse! a kiss from thee
Imprints my brow. Thy fond good-night!
To God commending me!
Dear nurse! a kiss from thee
Imprints my brow. Thy fond good-night!
To God commending me!
300
Amen!—and may His angels keep
Their watch around thy bed,
And guard from every hurtful thing
That venerable head!
Their watch around thy bed,
And guard from every hurtful thing
That venerable head!
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |