The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie ::

When life's long pilgrimage draws to a close,
A backward glance the weary traveller throws
On many a league traversed, and views the road,
Distant and near, in long perspective trod
By him and by companions on his way,
Who still hold onward, whether grave or gay,
Through gloom and gleam; a cheeker'd path, I ween,
Where forms within the memory's ken are seen,
Forms faint or vivid, varying oft, that seem
Like moving objects in a seried dream:
Till one right dearly on the mind impress'd
Bears for a time his thoughts from all the rest.
And, undisturb'd upon his peaceful station.
His busy mind enjoys its mournful occupation.

There she appears, as when in virgin grace
I first beheld her laughing, lovely face,
Intelligent withal, in which combined
Seem'd every hopeful quality of mind,
Solace, and cheer, and counsel, to impart,
All that should win and hold a manly, generous heart.

I see her mated with a moody lord,
Whose fame she prized, whose genius she adored.
There by his side she stands, pale, grave, and sad;
The brightness of her greeting smile is fled.
Like some fair flower ta'en from its genial mould
To deck a garden-border, loose and cold,
Its former kindred fences all destroy'd,
Shook by the breeze and by the rake annoy'd.
She seem'd, alas!—I look'd, and look'd again,
Tracing the sweet but alter'd face in vain.

I see her next in agony of soul:
Her surcharged feelings broke from all control.
The hand upon her forehead closely press'd,
The trembling frame and quivering lips express'd,
Though scarcely audible the feeble mutter,
Far more than full articulate sounds could utter.

I see her when by pure religion taught
Her heart is lighten'd of its heavy fraught.
Her canopy of murky clouds hath pass'd,
In air dissolved, and sunshine gleams at last.

809

Her heart, with Christian charity imbued,
Hath every hard vindictive thought subdued.
Oh, then how fair a sight it was to trace
That blessed state upon her placid face!
And yet, when weary of the gossip sound
From morning visitors convening round,
She would at times unusual silence hold,
Some, ah how erringly! believed her stiff and cold.

I see her from the world retired caressing
Her infant daughter, her assured blessing;
Teaching the comely creature, in despite
Of froward freaks, to feel and act aright;
Well suiting to the task her voice and look
With fondling playfulness or grave rebuke.
Now, with expression changed, but sweet, she cheers
Her widow'd father's weary weight of years.
How slily does her gentle hint recall
Some half forgotten tale of cot or hall,
To raise his hearty laugh, as by the fire
In easy chair he sits! old tales that never tire.

To early friends her love was firm and fast;
Beneath her roof they gather'd oft and cast
A faint reflected gleam of days gone by,
And kindly smiled on them her soft blue eye.
One dearly prized may special notice claim,
Mary Montgomery! nobly sounding name,
And worthy she to bear it. Oft would come
Their youthful kindred; to an easy home,
Where they might still their fairy gambols hold,
Nor in her presence fear to be too bold.
Though tired and languid, laid awhile to rest,
Around her still the active urchins press'd,
Would o'er the tumbled covering strive and wrestle,
And e'en at times behind her snugly nestle.
At hide and seek where did they lurk and crouch?
Ay, where forsooth but in my lady's couch!
Mock frowns from her but small impression made,
They gambol'd on, and would not be afraid.

Books were her solace, whether grave or gay,
But most she loved the poet's plaintive lay;
And e'en at times with knit considerate brow
Would with her pen a native talent show.
When fancy, link'd with feelings kind and dear,
Was found in lines that did not please the ear,
Oh then, with what a countenance she met
Her certain fate, by critics sore beset!
She met it all with simple kindly air,
The first to own and then the fault repair.

Mistress at length of wealth and large domain,
Behold her now a modest state maintain,
With generous heart and liberal hand bestowing,—
A spring of friendly kindness, ever flowing.
She did with such a gentle ease relieve,
From her it was a pleasure to receive.
With the consideration of a friend,
All was arranged to serve a useful end,
And no humiliation could ensue
To make the wounded heart her bounty rue.
Nay, rather its condition seem'd to rise,
Knit to her then as if by kindred ties.
For worth distress'd there was in sooth no need
In earnest pitcous words with her to plead,
Nor feel, because of some slight boons obtain'd,
But recently perhaps, shy and restrain'd:
Her cheerful eye gave answer short and plain,
“Think not of that, but come and come again.”

The humming of her school, its morning sound,
With all her youthful scholars gather'd round;
Their shout, when issuing forth at mid-day hour,
Each active lad exerting all his pow'r
To do the sturdy labour of a man,
As through the groups quick emulation ran,
Was music to her ear; warm thrill'd her blood;
She felt she was promoting public good.
And have I seen her proud or heard her boast?
Yes, once I did; when, counting use and cost,
She gravely added, that her boys thus train'd,
Employment afterwards more surely gain'd
From farmer, or from village artisan,
Who trusted each would prove a steady man.
In truth, her school had in its humble station
Acquired an honest fame and reputation.

I've seen, when in a daughter's happy lot
Her own was brighten'd, woes and cares forgot.
While with a roguish grandchild few could quell,
A sturdy imp that loved his grandame well,
She lowly sate upon the carpet playing,
The former frolics of her youth betraying,—
A pleasing sight, that led to deep reflection;
To pain and pleasure link'd in close connection.

And now within her chamber-walls confined
She sadly dwells and strives to be resign'd.
Her span of life, yet short, though rough the past,
May still through further years of languor last,
Or health to other years may yet be given
To do her Master's will—the will of heaven.
But should her lot be pain and sickness still,
She hath her task of duty to fulfill—
Her task of love, cheer'd by her noble trust,
The Christian's lofty faith, that from the dust
Lifts up the Christian's head, gleams in his eye,
Bracing his wasted strength to live or die.
Ay, 'tis a noble faith, not fenced and bound
By orthodoxy's narrow plot of ground.
The Bible, not the Church, directs her way,
Nor does she through entangled labyrinths stray.
Before her stands a prospect fair and wide,
To endless distance stretch'd on either side;
A gen'rous Saviour, beckoning us to come
Where mercy has prepared our peaceful home;
Where God, His God, supreme all powers above,
Receives us in the realms of sanctity and love.

810

If late or early from her house of clay,
The lease expired, her soul be turn'd away,
What boots it? ready for her Master's call,
Death's gloomy pass no longer can appal.
The covering o'er a pallid face is thrown,
The coffin closed, and all the rest unknown—
“No, not unknown,” a conscious spirit cries,
Stirring within us quickly; we shall rise
To nobler being waked; heaven's glorious show,
The varied wonders of the earth below,
And He who spake as never man did speak,
All tell of future happiness to break
On the departed just, whilst Nature's voice
Of many tones doth in that mighty sound rejoice.

But in what order we shall leave this scene,
Where all our joys, affections, cares have been,
Ah! who can say? the young and strong may stand
Close to the hidden confines of that land
From which no traveller returns again,
Whose sights and sounds in mystery remain:
But there full surely do the aged wait
An hourly summons to the unknown state.
Report perhaps of my decease may find
Her on a weary couch of pain reclined,
And some dear silent watcher then may see
Her soft eye glistening with a tear for me—
But cease we here—o'er fancy's sight is thrown
A closing veil—my vision'd thoughts are gone.

University of Virginia Library

RECOLLECTIONS OF A DEAR AND STEADY FRIEND.