The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
 |
|
|
|
|
TRUE AFFECTION. |
|
|
 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
TRUE AFFECTION.
The face of Henry faded fast,
The fever next in crimson came;
Each weary day was thought the last,
For furious was the fever's flame.
The fever next in crimson came;
Each weary day was thought the last,
For furious was the fever's flame.
Eliza heard, Eliza sighed,
And often of the youth inquired;
Her vow was given, and she his bride
Was all she wished on this side heav'n.
And often of the youth inquired;
Her vow was given, and she his bride
Was all she wished on this side heav'n.
She heard the croaking raven cry,
Her lovely eyes of sleep bereft;
She thought—If now my Henry die,
There's nought for me but sorrow left.
Her lovely eyes of sleep bereft;
She thought—If now my Henry die,
There's nought for me but sorrow left.
252
The fair was there, and all was mirth,
The viols and all music play;
But not a joy was left on earth—
These were to Henry flown away.
The viols and all music play;
But not a joy was left on earth—
These were to Henry flown away.
Now, Henry's father, he was proud,
And scorned Eliza, she was poor;
He vowed his son should wear a shroud
Ere he should see Eliza more.
And scorned Eliza, she was poor;
He vowed his son should wear a shroud
Ere he should see Eliza more.
The fever raged, till every one
That nursed the youth was laid near death;
The father durst not see his son,
But feared contagion from his breath.
That nursed the youth was laid near death;
The father durst not see his son,
But feared contagion from his breath.
Yet Henry's mother never moved,
Stayed with the youth, and would not move;
When all relations say, “We loved,”
Where is such truth as mothers' love?
Stayed with the youth, and would not move;
When all relations say, “We loved,”
Where is such truth as mothers' love?
'Twas midnight, and the winds were strong,
Henry insensible to pain,
His pulse not likely to beat long,
Nor his parched tongue to speak again.
Henry insensible to pain,
His pulse not likely to beat long,
Nor his parched tongue to speak again.
The storm beat hard against the door,
The eaves-drops fell both loud and fast,
The lightning blazed amid the shower,
When, lo! a virgin's form went past.
The eaves-drops fell both loud and fast,
The lightning blazed amid the shower,
When, lo! a virgin's form went past.
253
His mother trembled at the sight,
Then looked if Henry yet had breath;
The form that passed in purest white,
She thought the messenger of death.
Then looked if Henry yet had breath;
The form that passed in purest white,
She thought the messenger of death.
We need not lengthen out the tale;
It was Eliza came to pray,
Amid the storm of rain and hail,
That she might with her Henry stay.
It was Eliza came to pray,
Amid the storm of rain and hail,
That she might with her Henry stay.
She spoke, but spoke as in despair,
“Is yet my Henry's spirit here?
O let me stay! I will not care,
Though death in every form appear.”
“Is yet my Henry's spirit here?
O let me stay! I will not care,
Though death in every form appear.”
Softly in grief the mother spoke,
“Eliza, why in such a plight?”
She says, “My heart will sure be broke,
If I see not your son to-night.”
“Eliza, why in such a plight?”
She says, “My heart will sure be broke,
If I see not your son to-night.”
The mother's pity melted then,
She softly crept towards the door;
She let the storm-drenched maiden in—
She came, but home returned no more.
She softly crept towards the door;
She let the storm-drenched maiden in—
She came, but home returned no more.
All dropping she to Henry flew,
In time to catch his parting breath,
That kiss she to her bosom drew,
And soon with him was lain in death.
In time to catch his parting breath,
That kiss she to her bosom drew,
And soon with him was lain in death.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |