 | Ellen Fitzarthur |  |
CANTO I.
In Malwood Vale the shades of night
Were peacefully descending;
And closing, with the closing light
The peasant's toil was ending.
The cottage hearth blazed cheerily,
The twinkling light was burning,
Th' expecting wife, more wearily
Her lagging wheel was turning,
Oft list'ning with accustomed ear
Acute, the well-known step to hear —
It comes — and smiles of welcome sweet
The husband and the father greet.
Contending for the first caress,
Around his eager children press:
One climbs into his arms — another
Clings smiling round his knee;
A third is lifted by its mother
Its father's face to see:
The cradled innocent, his youngest treasure,
Holds out its dimpled arms, and crows for pleasure.
Were peacefully descending;
And closing, with the closing light
The peasant's toil was ending.
The cottage hearth blazed cheerily,
The twinkling light was burning,
Th' expecting wife, more wearily
Her lagging wheel was turning,
Oft list'ning with accustomed ear
Acute, the well-known step to hear —
It comes — and smiles of welcome sweet
The husband and the father greet.
Contending for the first caress,
Around his eager children press:
2
Clings smiling round his knee;
A third is lifted by its mother
Its father's face to see:
The cradled innocent, his youngest treasure,
Holds out its dimpled arms, and crows for pleasure.
Were all in Malwood Vale so blest?
Were such light hearts, and tranquil rest
As filled that night the peasant's cot,
Of all in Malwood Vale the lot?
No — there was one, for whom the Sun
Went down in clouds and sadness,
For whom no heart, when day was done,
Looked out with smiles of gladness:
For whose return, no eye was gazing,
For whom no cheerful hearth was blazing,
Whose dreary and forsaken home,
Was dark and silent as the tomb.
Were such light hearts, and tranquil rest
As filled that night the peasant's cot,
Of all in Malwood Vale the lot?
No — there was one, for whom the Sun
Went down in clouds and sadness,
For whom no heart, when day was done,
Looked out with smiles of gladness:
For whose return, no eye was gazing,
For whom no cheerful hearth was blazing,
Whose dreary and forsaken home,
Was dark and silent as the tomb.
The rising moon's unclouded ray
Streamed on his locks of silver gray,
And from the hearth, a dying beam
Shot upward, and with sickly gleam
Lit his pale face; revealing there
The furrowed lines of time and care.
With head declined in mournful thought
The old man sat — as mem'ry brought
Fresh o'er his mind, the faded train
Of blissful hopes, indulged in vain,
Of joys, that shed o'er life's decay
A mellow tint, an evening ray.
Vain retrospect! and sad as vain,
But sorrow courts the fruitless pain,
Her recollections and her tears
The relics of departed years.
Streamed on his locks of silver gray,
And from the hearth, a dying beam
Shot upward, and with sickly gleam
3
The furrowed lines of time and care.
With head declined in mournful thought
The old man sat — as mem'ry brought
Fresh o'er his mind, the faded train
Of blissful hopes, indulged in vain,
Of joys, that shed o'er life's decay
A mellow tint, an evening ray.
Vain retrospect! and sad as vain,
But sorrow courts the fruitless pain,
Her recollections and her tears
The relics of departed years.
And was she gone, his only child,
His darling Ellen! she who smiled
So artlessly, could she deceive him?
And could she have the heart to leave him?
Should he no more behold her? — never?—
She was the sun-beam of his age,
The star of life's dark pilgrimage,
And was she gone, and gone for ever?
Still in its burnished frame, behold
Her pictured likeness, as of old
She used his widowed arms to bless
In days of infant loveliness:—
The bright blue eyes, whose laughing glance
Thro' clustered ringlets peeped askance;
The lips, two parted cherries seen,
(Ripe fruit) with milk-white buds between;
One dimpled arm, encircling prest
Round Carlo's neck, and shaggy breast,
On his broad head, so soft and sleek,
The other props one rosy cheek.
Years, since the artist's cunning skill
Those playmates drew, have passed away,
But Carlo keeps his stations still
By that same hearth, grown old and gray:—
His spotted head, no longer sleek
As when it propt that rosy cheek,
But his old heart, too faithful still,
For time, with palsying touch, to chill.
Oft resting on his master's knee
His head, with faithful sympathy
And thought intent, he seems to trace
The care-worn furrows of his face,
Till that mute eloquence of eye
Obtains attention, and reply,
That murmurs low, in plaintive tone,
“Yes, old companion! she is gone.”
There hangs her unstrung lute, and there
Before him stands her vacant chair,
And there the book, with mark between,
As last she left it, still is seen.
No busy hand had dared displace
Of these, of her, the faintest trace,
And round the little chamber still
Was many a work of infant skill,
And many a flower and landscape, traced
In later years, by Ellen's taste.
Her hand shall wake the lute no more,
Her voice again shall never pour
For him its silver notes;
Yet oft he sits and seems to hear,
For oft in fancy's list'ning ear
The fond remembrance floats.
But if a crackling cinder drops,
He starts! — th' unreal music stops,
And all again is gloom:—
He casts round the deserted walls
A mournful glance, that soon recalls
His truant fancy home.
The poor old man, whose age's fate
Was thus forlorn and desolate,
To many a grateful heart endeared,
By all the hamlet was revered,
For in their griefs, his pitying heart
Had ever claimed a father's part,
And now, when to his lot it fell
To prove the woes he soothed so well,
All shared their aged pastor's grief,
All would have proffered kind relief,
But none might pluck the poisoned dart
From a forsaken father's heart;—
For earthly power th' attempt were vain,
God only could assuage the pain.
Ten years thrice told, his shepherd care
Had led his flock thro' pastures fair,
And taught their pleasant paths to stray
Where streams of living waters play.
And many a swain, whose early youth
His watchful zeal had trained to truth,
Now prayed for him, whose pious care
Had taught the sacred use of prayer.
Small was his store, his gifts profuse,
For Heaven supplied the slender cruise,
Which never yet was known to fail
When mis'ry told her piteous tale.
To him for counsel and relief,
Came care and sickness, want and grief;
The sinner at his warning turned,
His conscious heart within him burned,
Felt and obeyed the call of Heaven,
“Believe, repent, and be forgiven!”
His darling Ellen! she who smiled
So artlessly, could she deceive him?
And could she have the heart to leave him?
Should he no more behold her? — never?—
She was the sun-beam of his age,
The star of life's dark pilgrimage,
And was she gone, and gone for ever?
Still in its burnished frame, behold
Her pictured likeness, as of old
4
In days of infant loveliness:—
The bright blue eyes, whose laughing glance
Thro' clustered ringlets peeped askance;
The lips, two parted cherries seen,
(Ripe fruit) with milk-white buds between;
One dimpled arm, encircling prest
Round Carlo's neck, and shaggy breast,
On his broad head, so soft and sleek,
The other props one rosy cheek.
Years, since the artist's cunning skill
Those playmates drew, have passed away,
But Carlo keeps his stations still
By that same hearth, grown old and gray:—
His spotted head, no longer sleek
As when it propt that rosy cheek,
But his old heart, too faithful still,
For time, with palsying touch, to chill.
Oft resting on his master's knee
His head, with faithful sympathy
And thought intent, he seems to trace
The care-worn furrows of his face,
Till that mute eloquence of eye
Obtains attention, and reply,
5
“Yes, old companion! she is gone.”
There hangs her unstrung lute, and there
Before him stands her vacant chair,
And there the book, with mark between,
As last she left it, still is seen.
No busy hand had dared displace
Of these, of her, the faintest trace,
And round the little chamber still
Was many a work of infant skill,
And many a flower and landscape, traced
In later years, by Ellen's taste.
Her hand shall wake the lute no more,
Her voice again shall never pour
For him its silver notes;
Yet oft he sits and seems to hear,
For oft in fancy's list'ning ear
The fond remembrance floats.
But if a crackling cinder drops,
He starts! — th' unreal music stops,
And all again is gloom:—
He casts round the deserted walls
A mournful glance, that soon recalls
His truant fancy home.
6
Was thus forlorn and desolate,
To many a grateful heart endeared,
By all the hamlet was revered,
For in their griefs, his pitying heart
Had ever claimed a father's part,
And now, when to his lot it fell
To prove the woes he soothed so well,
All shared their aged pastor's grief,
All would have proffered kind relief,
But none might pluck the poisoned dart
From a forsaken father's heart;—
For earthly power th' attempt were vain,
God only could assuage the pain.
Ten years thrice told, his shepherd care
Had led his flock thro' pastures fair,
And taught their pleasant paths to stray
Where streams of living waters play.
And many a swain, whose early youth
His watchful zeal had trained to truth,
Now prayed for him, whose pious care
Had taught the sacred use of prayer.
Small was his store, his gifts profuse,
For Heaven supplied the slender cruise,
7
When mis'ry told her piteous tale.
To him for counsel and relief,
Came care and sickness, want and grief;
The sinner at his warning turned,
His conscious heart within him burned,
Felt and obeyed the call of Heaven,
“Believe, repent, and be forgiven!”
One earthly love he still confest,
One tie, the purest and the best,
That bound a widowed father's care
To one sweet blossom, frail and fair —
She whose young life's first clouded ray
Beamed on a dark and troubled day,
The guiltless messenger of death,
Bequeathed with love's expiring breath —
She who in smiling infancy
Had clasped his neck, and climbed his knee,
Whose first imperfect words, dispelling
The silence of his widowed dwelling,
Had wakened in his heart the tone,
That vibrates to that sound alone.
Oh, moment of parental pride!
When first those lisping accents tried
The purest hymn, which earth can raise,
An infant's, to its Maker's praise.
Sweet was the task her steps to guide,
When first they totter'd by his side,
Sustain'd at first with broad firm band,
Till soon, the little clasping hand
One finger held, and bolder grown,
A few short steps were tried alone,
And soon unguided, firm and free,
They ranged in wider liberty.
Then — sweet companion of his walk! —
She prattled her imperfect talk,
A broken language of her own,
Distinct to parents' ear alone.
Or bounding far, like playful fawn,
O'er blue-bell path, and daisied lawn,
Brought to his care her flowery store
To treasure, while she sought for more;
A promised kiss the trifler's lure,
To make th' important trust secure,
And never miser's golden hoard,
Than Ellen's weeds, was safer stored.
Ye who have felt the balmy bliss,
Th' endearing bribe of childhood's kiss;
Ye who have felt its powerful charm
Your sternest purpose to disarm,
Your wisest systems to dissolve,
To melt away your best resolve;
Ye know — and ye alone can tell —
The magic of that tender spell.
One tie, the purest and the best,
That bound a widowed father's care
To one sweet blossom, frail and fair —
She whose young life's first clouded ray
Beamed on a dark and troubled day,
The guiltless messenger of death,
Bequeathed with love's expiring breath —
She who in smiling infancy
Had clasped his neck, and climbed his knee,
Whose first imperfect words, dispelling
The silence of his widowed dwelling,
Had wakened in his heart the tone,
That vibrates to that sound alone.
8
When first those lisping accents tried
The purest hymn, which earth can raise,
An infant's, to its Maker's praise.
Sweet was the task her steps to guide,
When first they totter'd by his side,
Sustain'd at first with broad firm band,
Till soon, the little clasping hand
One finger held, and bolder grown,
A few short steps were tried alone,
And soon unguided, firm and free,
They ranged in wider liberty.
Then — sweet companion of his walk! —
She prattled her imperfect talk,
A broken language of her own,
Distinct to parents' ear alone.
Or bounding far, like playful fawn,
O'er blue-bell path, and daisied lawn,
Brought to his care her flowery store
To treasure, while she sought for more;
A promised kiss the trifler's lure,
To make th' important trust secure,
And never miser's golden hoard,
Than Ellen's weeds, was safer stored.
9
Th' endearing bribe of childhood's kiss;
Ye who have felt its powerful charm
Your sternest purpose to disarm,
Your wisest systems to dissolve,
To melt away your best resolve;
Ye know — and ye alone can tell —
The magic of that tender spell.
Oh! years too swiftly passing by,
Of dear engaging infancy,
How closely round the heart-strings press
Your tender claims of helplessness!
But when a widowed father's heart
Must doubly feel a parent's part;
When his, the love that must supply
A mother's fond and watchful eye,
A mother's hopes, a mother's fears,
A mother's thousand anxious cares,
(If such, indeed, can be supplied
On earth, by any love beside,)
What melting words can half express
That mingled tide of tenderness!
With such fond care, such anxious pleasure,
Fitzarthur watched his orphan treasure,
Till budding childhood's dimpled face
Matured to woman's riper grace,
And the sweet flower so fondly nursed,
In full and fair perfection burst,
Dear transcript of those buried charms
So early sever'd from his arms,
Yes — in her daughter's form revived,
Again his first dear Ellen lived —
Hers that dark brow, that forehead fair,
Those dove-like eyes, and glossy hair;
Hers that sweet voice, which but to hear
Might pain or sorrow's self beguile,
So low, so musical, and clear,
And hers, that dear enchanting smile.
Oft as he gazed, the shadowy train
Of years long past returned again,
So fresh, so fair, th' abstracted mind
To fancy's spell her powers resigned:
A lovely dream! a soothing spell
That mocked reality so well,
'Twas almost truth — almost, alas!—
Yet real joys like shadows pass,
And dreams that half recall again
Their short existence, are not vain.
E'en so she bloom'd in vernal pride
His youthful heart's selected bride,
When first she breathed that fond “for ever!”
Which only death had power to sever —
E'en so she looked, she moved, she spoke,
But that soft sound th' illusion broke:
“Father!” it cried — with waking start
He rose and caught her to his heart.
Of dear engaging infancy,
How closely round the heart-strings press
Your tender claims of helplessness!
But when a widowed father's heart
Must doubly feel a parent's part;
When his, the love that must supply
A mother's fond and watchful eye,
A mother's hopes, a mother's fears,
A mother's thousand anxious cares,
(If such, indeed, can be supplied
On earth, by any love beside,)
What melting words can half express
That mingled tide of tenderness!
10
Fitzarthur watched his orphan treasure,
Till budding childhood's dimpled face
Matured to woman's riper grace,
And the sweet flower so fondly nursed,
In full and fair perfection burst,
Dear transcript of those buried charms
So early sever'd from his arms,
Yes — in her daughter's form revived,
Again his first dear Ellen lived —
Hers that dark brow, that forehead fair,
Those dove-like eyes, and glossy hair;
Hers that sweet voice, which but to hear
Might pain or sorrow's self beguile,
So low, so musical, and clear,
And hers, that dear enchanting smile.
Oft as he gazed, the shadowy train
Of years long past returned again,
So fresh, so fair, th' abstracted mind
To fancy's spell her powers resigned:
A lovely dream! a soothing spell
That mocked reality so well,
'Twas almost truth — almost, alas!—
Yet real joys like shadows pass,
11
Their short existence, are not vain.
E'en so she bloom'd in vernal pride
His youthful heart's selected bride,
When first she breathed that fond “for ever!”
Which only death had power to sever —
E'en so she looked, she moved, she spoke,
But that soft sound th' illusion broke:
“Father!” it cried — with waking start
He rose and caught her to his heart.
Unruffled flowed with noiseless way
Their stream of life — each passing day,
And ev'ry season's course renewing
Some peaceful joy, some flow'ret strewing;
For where the heart's warm sunshine glows,
Its clime no change of season knows.
Pleasure but yields a faint perfume,
A perishing, imperfect bloom,
And happiness, of heav'nly birth,
But droops and languishes on earth;
Scarce budding on this mortal sphere,
Its fruit can never ripen here.
Content — a plant of humbler growth —
Hardier than these, partakes of both.
Heav'n still the fruitful seed must sow,
And teach th' incipient germ to grow;
And faith and patience must sustain
The infant plant with sun and rain;
And charity, and meekness too,
Must bathe it with refreshing dew;
But nurtured thus, the healthy root
Strikes deep, and yields perennial fruit;
Nor storm, nor chilling frost has power
To rob its boughs of leaf or flower,
Lovely alike their clusters sweet,
Through winter snows, and summer heat;
Fitzarthur's humble home it found,
Congenial soil, and fenced it round
So thick, no thorn of worldly care
Pierced to the simple inmates there.
Their stream of life — each passing day,
And ev'ry season's course renewing
Some peaceful joy, some flow'ret strewing;
For where the heart's warm sunshine glows,
Its clime no change of season knows.
Pleasure but yields a faint perfume,
A perishing, imperfect bloom,
And happiness, of heav'nly birth,
But droops and languishes on earth;
Scarce budding on this mortal sphere,
Its fruit can never ripen here.
12
Hardier than these, partakes of both.
Heav'n still the fruitful seed must sow,
And teach th' incipient germ to grow;
And faith and patience must sustain
The infant plant with sun and rain;
And charity, and meekness too,
Must bathe it with refreshing dew;
But nurtured thus, the healthy root
Strikes deep, and yields perennial fruit;
Nor storm, nor chilling frost has power
To rob its boughs of leaf or flower,
Lovely alike their clusters sweet,
Through winter snows, and summer heat;
Fitzarthur's humble home it found,
Congenial soil, and fenced it round
So thick, no thorn of worldly care
Pierced to the simple inmates there.
Sweet was their summer-evening walk,
Tender and sweet their social talk,
Returning by the silv'ry light
Of summer noon's unclouded night,
When with uplifted hearts and eyes
They viewed the wonders of the skies,
The sparkling, countless orbs that shine
Suspended there, by hand divine.
Then thro' the fields of space they ranged
With holy awe, and interchanged
Sweet confidence of pious hope,
Conjecture high, whose boundless scope
(Chastised by rev'rence) soared sublime
In faith, beyond the grave and time.
Then spoke they of the transport sweet,
When friends, long severed friends, shall meet;
When kindred souls, on earth disjoined,
Shall meet, from earthly dross refined,
Their mortal cares and frailties o'er,
Shall mingle hearts, to part no more.
But for this hope, this blessed stay!
When earthly comforts fade away,
And o'er the death-bed of a friend
In speechless agony we bend;
One, with whose life, our life's best part
Was closely woven — heart to heart —
Bereaved of whom, the world appears
One desert wilderness of tears,
Where never beam of cheering light
Shall pierce the long and wintry night—
But for the strength, those hopes can give,
Who could behold such sight and live?
Oh! who could close th' expiring eye,
Nor wish with those they love to die,
Who could receive their parting breath
Nor long to follow them in death?
But we have better hopes — we know
How short this pilgrimage of woe—
We know that our Redeemer lives! —
We trust the promises he gives;
We know they never can decay,
Tho' heav'n and earth should pass away —
That when the world's foundations shake
At the last trumpet's aweful breath,
The dead who sleep in Him, shall wake
Victorious over time and death.
Tender and sweet their social talk,
Returning by the silv'ry light
Of summer noon's unclouded night,
13
They viewed the wonders of the skies,
The sparkling, countless orbs that shine
Suspended there, by hand divine.
Then thro' the fields of space they ranged
With holy awe, and interchanged
Sweet confidence of pious hope,
Conjecture high, whose boundless scope
(Chastised by rev'rence) soared sublime
In faith, beyond the grave and time.
Then spoke they of the transport sweet,
When friends, long severed friends, shall meet;
When kindred souls, on earth disjoined,
Shall meet, from earthly dross refined,
Their mortal cares and frailties o'er,
Shall mingle hearts, to part no more.
But for this hope, this blessed stay!
When earthly comforts fade away,
And o'er the death-bed of a friend
In speechless agony we bend;
One, with whose life, our life's best part
Was closely woven — heart to heart —
Bereaved of whom, the world appears
One desert wilderness of tears,
14
Shall pierce the long and wintry night—
But for the strength, those hopes can give,
Who could behold such sight and live?
Oh! who could close th' expiring eye,
Nor wish with those they love to die,
Who could receive their parting breath
Nor long to follow them in death?
But we have better hopes — we know
How short this pilgrimage of woe—
We know that our Redeemer lives! —
We trust the promises he gives;
We know they never can decay,
Tho' heav'n and earth should pass away —
That when the world's foundations shake
At the last trumpet's aweful breath,
The dead who sleep in Him, shall wake
Victorious over time and death.
Sweet are those blessed hopes! — and well
The pious father loved to dwell
On the high theme, with her who hung
In rapt attention on his tongue,
Her eyes upraised in tearful light,
With beams of holy fervour bright.
'Twas thus he trained her pliant youth
With lessons of eternal truth.
But Winter, with his sullen reign,
Still brought enjoyment in his train —
Enjoyment, with instruction fraught —
Sweet lessons! by affection taught;
The teacher, fond! indulgent! mild!
Grateful and apt the duteous child.
The pious father loved to dwell
On the high theme, with her who hung
In rapt attention on his tongue,
15
With beams of holy fervour bright.
'Twas thus he trained her pliant youth
With lessons of eternal truth.
But Winter, with his sullen reign,
Still brought enjoyment in his train —
Enjoyment, with instruction fraught —
Sweet lessons! by affection taught;
The teacher, fond! indulgent! mild!
Grateful and apt the duteous child.
When rain without is pelting fast,
And bitter blows the northern blast,
Shutter and curtain's friendly skreen
Drawn close, exclude the wintry scene,
And dancing shadows on the wall
With the red hearth's broad flashes fall,
There the bright kettle, (Susan's pride!)
Makes bubbling music — close beside
(I'th' chimney nook serenely dozing)
Sits puss, her humdrum song composing —
There, China's fragrant leaves are steaming —
There, Carlo on the hearth is dreaming,
Disturbed perchance by ruthless thought
Of prowling rat, pursued and caught;
Or, if a gust of rushing wind
Roars, in the chimney's shaft confin'd,
He starts — th' imagined danger eyes
With ears erect in keen surprise;
Half rises, from the sound to fly,
But as its fitful murmurs die,
Lulled as they lull, his terrors cease,
And down he sinks, outstretched in peace.
And bitter blows the northern blast,
Shutter and curtain's friendly skreen
Drawn close, exclude the wintry scene,
And dancing shadows on the wall
With the red hearth's broad flashes fall,
There the bright kettle, (Susan's pride!)
Makes bubbling music — close beside
(I'th' chimney nook serenely dozing)
Sits puss, her humdrum song composing —
There, China's fragrant leaves are steaming —
There, Carlo on the hearth is dreaming,
16
Of prowling rat, pursued and caught;
Or, if a gust of rushing wind
Roars, in the chimney's shaft confin'd,
He starts — th' imagined danger eyes
With ears erect in keen surprise;
Half rises, from the sound to fly,
But as its fitful murmurs die,
Lulled as they lull, his terrors cease,
And down he sinks, outstretched in peace.
When by that hearth, so brightly blazing,
The father on his child was gazing,
While she, the wintry hours to cheer
With native woodnotes charmed his ear,
(Notes to that partial ear excelling
The loftiest strains from science swelling,)
Or light of heart, in youthful glee
With converse innocent and free
Beguiled the time, or turned the page
Of holy writ, or learning sage,
Or caught, inspired, the glowing theme
Of lofty bard, or minstrel's dream,
Till in her eyes a kindling fire
Sparkled reflected from the lyre —
Oh! then, while gazing on her face,
He watched each wildly varying grace,
Till silent rapture's tender tear
Dimmed on his eyes, a sight so dear;
With grateful love, his heart o'erflowing,
To Heav'n with pious transport glowing,
Poured out its speechless tribute there,
In praise no language could declare.
The father on his child was gazing,
While she, the wintry hours to cheer
With native woodnotes charmed his ear,
(Notes to that partial ear excelling
The loftiest strains from science swelling,)
Or light of heart, in youthful glee
With converse innocent and free
Beguiled the time, or turned the page
Of holy writ, or learning sage,
Or caught, inspired, the glowing theme
Of lofty bard, or minstrel's dream,
17
Sparkled reflected from the lyre —
Oh! then, while gazing on her face,
He watched each wildly varying grace,
Till silent rapture's tender tear
Dimmed on his eyes, a sight so dear;
With grateful love, his heart o'erflowing,
To Heav'n with pious transport glowing,
Poured out its speechless tribute there,
In praise no language could declare.
If there is happiness below,
In such a home she's shrined —
The human heart can never know
Enjoyment more refined,
Than where that sacred band is twined
Of filial and parental ties,
That tender union, all combined
Of Nature's holiest sympathies!
In such a home she's shrined —
The human heart can never know
Enjoyment more refined,
Than where that sacred band is twined
Of filial and parental ties,
That tender union, all combined
Of Nature's holiest sympathies!
'Tis friendship in its loveliest dress!
'Tis love's most perfect tenderness!
All other friendships may decay,
All other loves may fade away;
Our faults or follies may disgust
The friend in whom we fondly trust,
Or selfish views may intervene,
From us his changeful heart to wean;
Or we ourselves may change, and find
Faults to which once our love was blind;
Or ling'ring pain, or pining care,
At length may weary friendship's ear,
And love may gaze with altered eye,
When beauty's young attractions fly.
But in that union, firm and mild,
That binds a parent to his child,
Such jarring chords can never sound,
Such painful doubts can never wound.
Tho' health and fortune may decay,
And fleeting beauty pass away —
Tho' grief may blight, or sin deface
Our youth's fair promise, or disgrace
May brand with infamy and shame,
And public scorn, our blasted name —
Tho' all the fell contagion fly
Of guilt, reproach, and misery;
When love rejects, and friends forsake,
A parent, tho' his heart may break,
From that fond heart will never tear
The child whose last retreat is there!
Oh union, purest, most sublime!
The grave itself, but for a time
Thy holy bond shall sever;
His hand who rent, shall bind again
With firmer links thy broken chain,
To be complete for ever!
'Tis love's most perfect tenderness!
All other friendships may decay,
All other loves may fade away;
18
The friend in whom we fondly trust,
Or selfish views may intervene,
From us his changeful heart to wean;
Or we ourselves may change, and find
Faults to which once our love was blind;
Or ling'ring pain, or pining care,
At length may weary friendship's ear,
And love may gaze with altered eye,
When beauty's young attractions fly.
But in that union, firm and mild,
That binds a parent to his child,
Such jarring chords can never sound,
Such painful doubts can never wound.
Tho' health and fortune may decay,
And fleeting beauty pass away —
Tho' grief may blight, or sin deface
Our youth's fair promise, or disgrace
May brand with infamy and shame,
And public scorn, our blasted name —
Tho' all the fell contagion fly
Of guilt, reproach, and misery;
When love rejects, and friends forsake,
A parent, tho' his heart may break,
19
The child whose last retreat is there!
Oh union, purest, most sublime!
The grave itself, but for a time
Thy holy bond shall sever;
His hand who rent, shall bind again
With firmer links thy broken chain,
To be complete for ever!
Ah Ellen! could thy fancy rove
From such a home of peace and love?
No — not one glance, one roving thought
The busy world's allurements sought —
No youthful fancy learned to stray
From that dear peaceful home away,
Within whose safe, secluded bound,
An earthly Paradise she found.
But Paradise itself was lost
When woman's path the tempter crost —
And still the wily serpent's art,
Beguiles confiding woman's heart.
From such a home of peace and love?
No — not one glance, one roving thought
The busy world's allurements sought —
No youthful fancy learned to stray
From that dear peaceful home away,
Within whose safe, secluded bound,
An earthly Paradise she found.
But Paradise itself was lost
When woman's path the tempter crost —
And still the wily serpent's art,
Beguiles confiding woman's heart.
| Ellen Fitzarthur | |