Poems By the author of "The Patience of Hope" [i.e. Dora Greenwell] |
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THE OLD FAMILY. |
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294
THE OLD FAMILY.
Not now is given, as of old, unto the free of hand,
And to the liberal of soul, the fulness of the land;
Or They would have been with us still, our hearts and homes among,
The good old family, that held by hill and stream so long.
And to the liberal of soul, the fulness of the land;
Or They would have been with us still, our hearts and homes among,
The good old family, that held by hill and stream so long.
The oldest tales among us told, the oldest song e'er sung,
Could bring no trace of times when that our goodly tree was young;
They lived among us, sire and son, among us when they died,
We laid them where their Fathers lie, each resting side by side.
Could bring no trace of times when that our goodly tree was young;
They lived among us, sire and son, among us when they died,
We laid them where their Fathers lie, each resting side by side.
They were so much our own, that still their pleasure was our pride,
When a child was born unto the house, or the heir brought home his bride;
We owned a part in all they had—it seemed that we went shares
In Life, when we partook their joys, and half forgot our cares!
When a child was born unto the house, or the heir brought home his bride;
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In Life, when we partook their joys, and half forgot our cares!
Oh! when shall we e'er see the like of them we loved, again?
Where meet such kindly hearts to feel for all the poor man's pain?
When in his hour of gladness now shall those kind tones be heard,
To make it double with the smile that sweetened every word?
Where meet such kindly hearts to feel for all the poor man's pain?
When in his hour of gladness now shall those kind tones be heard,
To make it double with the smile that sweetened every word?
A word from them, a smile, a look, oh! it was sweeter far
Than all the gifts that others give, than all their favours are;
Yet they were bountiful and free as any that may live,
But with their gifts the blessing came, that money cannot give.
Than all the gifts that others give, than all their favours are;
Yet they were bountiful and free as any that may live,
But with their gifts the blessing came, that money cannot give.
How oft it comes within my mind, the morning of the day,
When we took our leave of them—the last, before they went away:
The beating hearts, the trembling hands, the tongues that strove to tell
Our gratitude and love to them, who knew it all so well.
When we took our leave of them—the last, before they went away:
The beating hearts, the trembling hands, the tongues that strove to tell
Our gratitude and love to them, who knew it all so well.
296
There was no child but owned their care, no aged soul and poor,
But blessed their shadow, as it fell within the humble door;
No bed of sickness, where their words of comfort did not wake;
May He who saw their love to us their bed in sickness make!
But blessed their shadow, as it fell within the humble door;
No bed of sickness, where their words of comfort did not wake;
May He who saw their love to us their bed in sickness make!
May He be with them in their ways, wherever they may go,
And give to them the Heritage the faithful only know;
And they have wealth, that will abide when earthly goods depart,
In the poor man's love, the poor man's prayer, and the blessing of his heart!
And give to them the Heritage the faithful only know;
And they have wealth, that will abide when earthly goods depart,
In the poor man's love, the poor man's prayer, and the blessing of his heart!
How sad it seemed to miss their words of greeting on our ways,
How heavily our work went on without their cheering praise;
We felt like those who lose on earth their refuge and their stay,
When They, the family we loved, went from us far away.
How heavily our work went on without their cheering praise;
We felt like those who lose on earth their refuge and their stay,
When They, the family we loved, went from us far away.
They left with us their treasure—yes, we hold what they held dear,
The father, our good father, laid for ever with us here;
Not in his day the change came o'er the scenes he loved the best,
He sleeps, nor dreams of what is now, safe gathered to his rest.
The father, our good father, laid for ever with us here;
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He sleeps, nor dreams of what is now, safe gathered to his rest.
The noble-hearted gentleman, who house and hand and heart
So open held, that in his own he only claimed a part;
He bore his state unto the last, the snows of winter fell,
But might not chill the true-born soul that loved us all so well!
So open held, that in his own he only claimed a part;
He bore his state unto the last, the snows of winter fell,
But might not chill the true-born soul that loved us all so well!
How sad it seemed to us to see the velvet lawn unmown,
Weeds springing in the garden that our Lady called her own!
The pleasant lake choked up and dry, and swamped the little boat
That bore the children in their glee so merrily afloat.
Weeds springing in the garden that our Lady called her own!
The pleasant lake choked up and dry, and swamped the little boat
That bore the children in their glee so merrily afloat.
Our fine young gentlemen, no more when Autumn days grow dark,
We hear their loud and cheerful tones come ringing through the park;
Their dogs find other masters now, it seemed to do us wrong
That aught that they had liked so well to others should belong.
We hear their loud and cheerful tones come ringing through the park;
Their dogs find other masters now, it seemed to do us wrong
That aught that they had liked so well to others should belong.
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And strangers now live at the Hall, oh! sad to us and strange
It seems, to see their places filled, when hearts have known no change;
Strange voices sounding in our ears, strange faces in the pew,
When Sunday found the fairest ones, the dearest that we knew.
It seems, to see their places filled, when hearts have known no change;
Strange voices sounding in our ears, strange faces in the pew,
When Sunday found the fairest ones, the dearest that we knew.
Yet it were evil to complain, the new may be the kind,
But can they be to us like Them—to whom each heart and mind
Was like a book before them spread, where they might read at will,
And 'mid our errors trace their names, the loved and honoured still.
But can they be to us like Them—to whom each heart and mind
Was like a book before them spread, where they might read at will,
And 'mid our errors trace their names, the loved and honoured still.
We feel it still, though from us gone, the smile that was our praise,
The eye that mourned to see our steps withdraw from virtue's ways;
The patient words, the gentle deeds, that strove to lead us on
In paths of pleasantness and peace, they have not surely gone!
The eye that mourned to see our steps withdraw from virtue's ways;
The patient words, the gentle deeds, that strove to lead us on
In paths of pleasantness and peace, they have not surely gone!
We think of Them, that if they come once more to the old place,
Our looks may answer theirs, nor fear to meet them face to face;
For the land, the land is still their own, and they may come once more,
To flourish where the ancient stock was wont to thrive of yore.
Our looks may answer theirs, nor fear to meet them face to face;
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To flourish where the ancient stock was wont to thrive of yore.
We think of them when Spring sends forth the bud upon the bough,
And wish that They could see how well the young woods promise now;
When Autumn brings the harvest round, we wish that They could see
How well the reapers do their work upon the upland lea.
And wish that They could see how well the young woods promise now;
When Autumn brings the harvest round, we wish that They could see
How well the reapers do their work upon the upland lea.
Oh! things have changed with us, with all, since last they went away,
And youthful brows are marked with care, and hair is mixed with grey;
And They will look on many a change, on children grown to men,
But the heart,—the heart will be the same to welcome them again!
And youthful brows are marked with care, and hair is mixed with grey;
And They will look on many a change, on children grown to men,
But the heart,—the heart will be the same to welcome them again!
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