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174
MARTHA.
I
A fair white Rose across thy casement swinging,
In its white innocence a type of thee;
A wild bird fluttering in a breezy tree,
Dewy with dawn, and in the twilight singing,
And with its music back unto thee bringing
Sweet childlike hopes, and memories flown away,
And that glad thought that once again 'tis May;
A sound of waters down the valley ringing;
In its white innocence a type of thee;
A wild bird fluttering in a breezy tree,
Dewy with dawn, and in the twilight singing,
And with its music back unto thee bringing
Sweet childlike hopes, and memories flown away,
And that glad thought that once again 'tis May;
A sound of waters down the valley ringing;
A Summer air breathed in upon thy brows
Laden with leafy sweets from holts below,
While thro' the dark stems, and the rustling boughs
The fires of Dawn begin to throb and glow;
Such are the sights and sounds that to thee borne
Cheer thy lone heart, and wake thee up at morn.
Laden with leafy sweets from holts below,
While thro' the dark stems, and the rustling boughs
The fires of Dawn begin to throb and glow;
Such are the sights and sounds that to thee borne
Cheer thy lone heart, and wake thee up at morn.
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II
The Maker knows the spirit and the form
Of his own works, and loves what he hath made,
From cloudtopt pines to lilies lowly laid,
From Heaven to Earth, from Angels to the worm;
Or sure one sight were dearer to his eyes
Than all the fashions that the World affords,
One voice were sweeter than all Poets' words,
One heart more pure than any sacrifice,
Of his own works, and loves what he hath made,
From cloudtopt pines to lilies lowly laid,
From Heaven to Earth, from Angels to the worm;
Or sure one sight were dearer to his eyes
Than all the fashions that the World affords,
One voice were sweeter than all Poets' words,
One heart more pure than any sacrifice,
Thou from good dreams, kindhearted Hermit, waking,
And breathing up into the dewy air
With the first glimmer of the morning breaking,
Thy free thanksgiving, and thy faithful prayer,
And singing, till the merry woodland throng
Hush their own peal to listen to thy song.
And breathing up into the dewy air
With the first glimmer of the morning breaking,
Thy free thanksgiving, and thy faithful prayer,
And singing, till the merry woodland throng
Hush their own peal to listen to thy song.
III
Dear Village Maid, who from thy little store
Of Knowledge, and of Riches, canst supply
The flower and fruitage of Humanity,
Balm for thyself, and comfort for the poor;
I never pass the woodbines round thy door
But in my heart there swells a wistful sigh—
Oh! could I change all gawds of Vanity
For peace, like thine, increasing evermore!
Of Knowledge, and of Riches, canst supply
The flower and fruitage of Humanity,
Balm for thyself, and comfort for the poor;
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But in my heart there swells a wistful sigh—
Oh! could I change all gawds of Vanity
For peace, like thine, increasing evermore!
By day thy sweet face passing thro' the gate
Is welcome as the bounty-bearing light,
Thy frugal lamp is to the desolate
A star of promise, dawning thro' the night;
Oh! if all hearts were only lit like thine
Night would not be, tho' stars should cease to shine!
Is welcome as the bounty-bearing light,
Thy frugal lamp is to the desolate
A star of promise, dawning thro' the night;
Oh! if all hearts were only lit like thine
Night would not be, tho' stars should cease to shine!
IV
Look how the Glowworm shining in the shade
Illumines the dark leaf whereon it lies;
No fixed star above it in the skies,
Nor moonbeam thro' the cloudy midnight stray'd
Unto its tiny fire have lent their aid;
So thy sweet spirit fulfill'd with love alone
Warms with the sunshine roundabout it thrown
A few fond hearts whose treasure there is laid.
Illumines the dark leaf whereon it lies;
No fixed star above it in the skies,
Nor moonbeam thro' the cloudy midnight stray'd
Unto its tiny fire have lent their aid;
So thy sweet spirit fulfill'd with love alone
Warms with the sunshine roundabout it thrown
A few fond hearts whose treasure there is laid.
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Along thy bowery walks no pomps are seen;
No lofty passions flatter them or thee;
Thy days, like tendrils of an evergreen,
Twine round the steadfast form of Charity;
Thy thoughts are tender, and thy words are true,
Thy blessings fall as soundless as the dew.
No lofty passions flatter them or thee;
Thy days, like tendrils of an evergreen,
Twine round the steadfast form of Charity;
Thy thoughts are tender, and thy words are true,
Thy blessings fall as soundless as the dew.
V
I love the shadows of thy chamber dim,
The sacred place of Purity and Peace,
With soft lights quivering thro' o'erhanging trees,
Love's balmy bower where Sorrow looks for him;
There new-blown roses, lavender, and thyme
Breathe like an early world; there lapse to rest
Proud thoughts, like wild birds, in a welcome nest,
And daily cares as to an evening hymn.
The sacred place of Purity and Peace,
With soft lights quivering thro' o'erhanging trees,
Love's balmy bower where Sorrow looks for him;
There new-blown roses, lavender, and thyme
Breathe like an early world; there lapse to rest
Proud thoughts, like wild birds, in a welcome nest,
And daily cares as to an evening hymn.
First on the threshold wistfully I wait
To catch thy voice among the busy birds,
Some dear old song sublime with Love and Fate,
Some solemn utterance of the Holy Words,
And entering softly see thy ready cheer
Break thro' the twilight of a lingering tear.
To catch thy voice among the busy birds,
Some dear old song sublime with Love and Fate,
Some solemn utterance of the Holy Words,
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Break thro' the twilight of a lingering tear.
VI
Ofttimes I mark thee, while the village tower
Takes the first glow of the newrisen morn,
Bending among the tombs like one forlorn;
There is thy Mother's grave; there, sun or shower,
Art thou, and there is cherish'd every flower
She loved the best, and 'tis thy secret trust,
That in the blossoms springing from her dust
Lives something of her to this very hour.
Takes the first glow of the newrisen morn,
Bending among the tombs like one forlorn;
There is thy Mother's grave; there, sun or shower,
Art thou, and there is cherish'd every flower
She loved the best, and 'tis thy secret trust,
That in the blossoms springing from her dust
Lives something of her to this very hour.
There on the sabbath day mayst thou be seen
The first of all, the last to linger there;
Sweet memories of her virtues come between
Thy whisper'd words, and mingle with thy prayer,
And aged women doom'd to endless toil
Stay by the porch, and weep with thee, or smile.
The first of all, the last to linger there;
Sweet memories of her virtues come between
Thy whisper'd words, and mingle with thy prayer,
And aged women doom'd to endless toil
Stay by the porch, and weep with thee, or smile.
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VII
And when great dames avenging little wrongs
Glance on by hall and bower, by field and fair,
Or, ere the banquet, lisp, ‘'tis hard to bear,’
Or weep at eve in gems to sound of songs;
To thee, kind Angel, oh! to thee belongs
To minister unto the sick man's brow,
Unmark'd of eyes thy tears in silence flow,
Thy faithful sighs unheralded of tongues.
Glance on by hall and bower, by field and fair,
Or, ere the banquet, lisp, ‘'tis hard to bear,’
Or weep at eve in gems to sound of songs;
To thee, kind Angel, oh! to thee belongs
To minister unto the sick man's brow,
Unmark'd of eyes thy tears in silence flow,
Thy faithful sighs unheralded of tongues.
How oft hast thou rebuked thee, if a word,
If but a whisper of the poor man's need
Hath reach'd thee, and thy fondest hope deferr'd,
Lest, when thy heart was merry, his should bleed;
We saw thee—and thine eyes more brightly shone
With effluence of his gladness than thine own.
If but a whisper of the poor man's need
Hath reach'd thee, and thy fondest hope deferr'd,
Lest, when thy heart was merry, his should bleed;
We saw thee—and thine eyes more brightly shone
With effluence of his gladness than thine own.
VIII
‘Oh! sure,’ some said, ‘to her kind Heaven hath dealt
Freedom from earthly penance, that can share
The common ills of others, and their care;
Surely so free a heart hath never felt
The fetters of great sorrows, that can melt
With simple tears, and laugh with simple joys:
Alas! they had not heard the hidden sighs
Folded within thy conscience pure of guilt:
Freedom from earthly penance, that can share
The common ills of others, and their care;
Surely so free a heart hath never felt
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With simple tears, and laugh with simple joys:
Alas! they had not heard the hidden sighs
Folded within thy conscience pure of guilt:
There was another heart that answer'd thee;
He grew beside thee, till your hopes were one;
Far off he sleeps, afar beyond the sea;
And thou hast vow'd thro' Death's great gates alone
To pass unto thy bridal—and to lay
His image near thee on thy dying day.
He grew beside thee, till your hopes were one;
Far off he sleeps, afar beyond the sea;
And thou hast vow'd thro' Death's great gates alone
To pass unto thy bridal—and to lay
His image near thee on thy dying day.
IX
When thou wert laid in sickness and in pain
Thro' one sad Autumn—oh! the falling leaf
Fell gentlier by thy casement in its grief,
And still, as holy tears, the evening rain;
Methought the hamlet ne'er would wake again,
So mighty was the sorrow and the calm;
And children wail'd, and many a wither'd palm
Was raised to Heaven for thee—and not in vain.
Thro' one sad Autumn—oh! the falling leaf
Fell gentlier by thy casement in its grief,
And still, as holy tears, the evening rain;
Methought the hamlet ne'er would wake again,
So mighty was the sorrow and the calm;
And children wail'd, and many a wither'd palm
Was raised to Heaven for thee—and not in vain.
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The meek, the rugged, wept beside thy door,
The evil-minded took another way;
And fewer were the murmurs of the poor
For their own troubles than thine evil day;
And when another Mayday brought thee forth
Something from Heaven had fallen on the Earth.
The evil-minded took another way;
And fewer were the murmurs of the poor
For their own troubles than thine evil day;
And when another Mayday brought thee forth
Something from Heaven had fallen on the Earth.
X
I saw thy garden gate stand open wide;
There was the untrimm'd box, the latter flowers
Leaning thro' the dusk day of stilly hours,
As tho' to hear thy voice so long denied;
Drooping, as tho' thy welcome hand supplied
No more the life they only loved for thee;
Pining, for thy remember'd charity,
Stay'd with faint hope that keeps by Sorrow's side.
There was the untrimm'd box, the latter flowers
Leaning thro' the dusk day of stilly hours,
As tho' to hear thy voice so long denied;
Drooping, as tho' thy welcome hand supplied
No more the life they only loved for thee;
Pining, for thy remember'd charity,
Stay'd with faint hope that keeps by Sorrow's side.
Fair was the Winter of that woful year
And sunny calm—and swiftly came the May;
The throstles piped as fondly to thine ear
As tho' they loved to bid thee back to day,
And the first nightingale from over sea
Sang by thy bower, and brought new life to thee.
And sunny calm—and swiftly came the May;
The throstles piped as fondly to thine ear
As tho' they loved to bid thee back to day,
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Sang by thy bower, and brought new life to thee.
XI
O heart of grace, that, like the lowly flowers,
Bendest beneath the storms, but dost not break,
Whom in thy tears kind thoughts do not forsake,
As blessed odors live in thundershowers;
Whether the sun shines forth, or tempest lowers,
Thou art unshaken—in thine utmost need,
While iron pride is shatter'd like a reed,
Thy winged hopes fly onward with the hours.
Bendest beneath the storms, but dost not break,
Whom in thy tears kind thoughts do not forsake,
As blessed odors live in thundershowers;
Whether the sun shines forth, or tempest lowers,
Thou art unshaken—in thine utmost need,
While iron pride is shatter'd like a reed,
Thy winged hopes fly onward with the hours.
Therefore thine eye thro' mist of many days
Shines bright, and beauty, like a lingering rose,
Sits on thy cheek, and in thy laughter plays,
While Wintry frosts have fallen on thy foes;
And like a Vale, that breathes the Western sky,
Thy heart is green, tho' Summer is gone by.
Shines bright, and beauty, like a lingering rose,
Sits on thy cheek, and in thy laughter plays,
While Wintry frosts have fallen on thy foes;
And like a Vale, that breathes the Western sky,
Thy heart is green, tho' Summer is gone by.
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XII
Whatever be my lot, I pray that thou
Mayst see a cloudless Autumn of thy years,
Whose Summertide hath been o'ercast with tears;
Tho' like the clouds, that vainly overflow
The deep clear sky, they have not dimm'd thy brow,
Or darken'd the quick flame of Liberty
Lit at that eye, which fashion'd it and thee;
Be thine a Vale where Western breezes blow
Mayst see a cloudless Autumn of thy years,
Whose Summertide hath been o'ercast with tears;
Tho' like the clouds, that vainly overflow
The deep clear sky, they have not dimm'd thy brow,
Or darken'd the quick flame of Liberty
Lit at that eye, which fashion'd it and thee;
Be thine a Vale where Western breezes blow
The livelong year, where thou mayst walk at Even
'Mid cherish'd flowers along a garden slope,
And breathe in peace the purity of Heaven,
And turn unto the Sun with eyes of hope,
With sweet birds every morn to make thee cheer,
And sound of living waters in thine ear.
'Mid cherish'd flowers along a garden slope,
And breathe in peace the purity of Heaven,
And turn unto the Sun with eyes of hope,
With sweet birds every morn to make thee cheer,
And sound of living waters in thine ear.
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