Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer By the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Second Edition |
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 | Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer |  |
DEDICATION.
TO
MRS. BULLER YARDE BULLER,
OF
LUPTON HOUSE, DEVON.
1
TALE FIRST. HARFORD.
“OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED
BE THY NAME.”
3
'Twas Sabbath morning; and the pleasant sun
From a blue sky looked smiling out upon
The day of God,—inviting man to come
And walk the fields and muse, where even the dumb
Were eloquent in praise, and dewy eyes
Looked up their beauteous worship to the skies
From every bank and hedgerow, and the trees
Gave song or incense to each passing breeze
To waft on to high heaven; for buxom June
Now pranked the fields, and set the woods in tune;
And Nature, priestess-like, in full attire
Stood forth, and called on Man to lead her choir.
From a blue sky looked smiling out upon
The day of God,—inviting man to come
And walk the fields and muse, where even the dumb
Were eloquent in praise, and dewy eyes
Looked up their beauteous worship to the skies
From every bank and hedgerow, and the trees
Gave song or incense to each passing breeze
To waft on to high heaven; for buxom June
Now pranked the fields, and set the woods in tune;
4
Stood forth, and called on Man to lead her choir.
I envy not his feelings who is dead
To such an invitation; who can tread
With unimpassioned step, at such an hour,
On such a day, the dewy herb and flower
All redolent of God;—can look on earth
Young, green, and smiling as it came at birth
Fresh from His hand, nor feel as then was felt,
When every eye and tongue and spirit dwelt
On Him, when morning stars sang joy and love,
And all the sons of God shouted above
A new-born world, where the Creator viewed
His six days' works, and lo they all were good!
I envy not the man who thus can share
Morn's pleasant sun, wild music, and free air,
Nor note the present Deity, who stands
There in his temple not built up with hands,
Whose footprints and whose handlings may be traced
On every side now fresh and uneffaced,
And who from all around receives the praise,
Which man most favoured most neglects to raise.
To such an invitation; who can tread
With unimpassioned step, at such an hour,
On such a day, the dewy herb and flower
All redolent of God;—can look on earth
Young, green, and smiling as it came at birth
Fresh from His hand, nor feel as then was felt,
When every eye and tongue and spirit dwelt
On Him, when morning stars sang joy and love,
And all the sons of God shouted above
A new-born world, where the Creator viewed
His six days' works, and lo they all were good!
I envy not the man who thus can share
Morn's pleasant sun, wild music, and free air,
5
There in his temple not built up with hands,
Whose footprints and whose handlings may be traced
On every side now fresh and uneffaced,
And who from all around receives the praise,
Which man most favoured most neglects to raise.
'Twas Sabbath morning; but not thus the Sun
Reached amidst London's vapours dense and dun
The hero of my tale, and struggling through
The garret's sky-light pane of yellow hue,
Shot on his bed a slanting sickly ray,
That just gave notice of returning day,
And roused him up, and called him forth to pass
That morn with nature on the open grass.
I will not say indeed the Sabbath brought
To him these high emotions; that he thought
Of mingling offerings now with bird or flower;
That on such day, at such unwonted hour
He left his comfortable couch, and strode
So resolute along the City Road,
And sought escape from pavements, rails and bricks,
Before Bow-bells rang out the hour of six.
Reached amidst London's vapours dense and dun
The hero of my tale, and struggling through
The garret's sky-light pane of yellow hue,
Shot on his bed a slanting sickly ray,
That just gave notice of returning day,
And roused him up, and called him forth to pass
That morn with nature on the open grass.
I will not say indeed the Sabbath brought
To him these high emotions; that he thought
6
That on such day, at such unwonted hour
He left his comfortable couch, and strode
So resolute along the City Road,
And sought escape from pavements, rails and bricks,
Before Bow-bells rang out the hour of six.
He passed each nuisance of Town's Sabbath morn:
The coach's rattling wheel and stunning horn;
The loitering groups collecting in the street
With oath and jeer that blessed day to greet;
The drunkard reeling from the licensed sink,
Where his week's hire is spent in one night's drink;
The tawdry harlot shrinking from the light;
And other prowlers of the lawless night,
Still found where man his Maker would dethrone
And shut out God's creation with his own.
Disgusting all: and yet he passed them by
With small offence to either ear or eye;
For daily use had dulled the finer sense
That gives such sights and sounds due influence.
The coach's rattling wheel and stunning horn;
The loitering groups collecting in the street
With oath and jeer that blessed day to greet;
The drunkard reeling from the licensed sink,
Where his week's hire is spent in one night's drink;
The tawdry harlot shrinking from the light;
And other prowlers of the lawless night,
Still found where man his Maker would dethrone
And shut out God's creation with his own.
7
With small offence to either ear or eye;
For daily use had dulled the finer sense
That gives such sights and sounds due influence.
Sam Harford had behind a counter lived
For thirty years; was wealthy, fat, and wived.
Early and late still constant at his stand
With ready smile and bow, and yard in hand;
A magic wand, whose touch had influence
To turn whole bales to shillings, pounds, and pence.
None more adroit to wield the shears or quill,
To measure, pack, or item up a bill,
Or deal neat phrases to each customer,
‘As pray sit down, Ma'am,’ ‘pleasant morning, Sir.’
His travel through the day was seldom more
Than now and then from counter to the door,
To just look out, and rub his hands, and then
Back like a pendulum to his place again.
For thirty years; was wealthy, fat, and wived.
Early and late still constant at his stand
With ready smile and bow, and yard in hand;
A magic wand, whose touch had influence
To turn whole bales to shillings, pounds, and pence.
None more adroit to wield the shears or quill,
To measure, pack, or item up a bill,
Or deal neat phrases to each customer,
‘As pray sit down, Ma'am,’ ‘pleasant morning, Sir.’
His travel through the day was seldom more
Than now and then from counter to the door,
8
Back like a pendulum to his place again.
Sam Harford's thoughts were like his steps, they moved
One plain small circle, whence they rarely roved.
The world and the world's business occupied
His mind, and left small space for ought beside.
He knew he had a soul, but why or how
Had never brought one wrinkle o'er his brow;
He thought there was a God, and had heard tell
Of Christ, and future being, Heaven and Hell;
But these were matters distant all and dim;
He nas, and that was quite enough for him.
He deemed the Bible a good book, and those
That had the time might read it if they chose;
Sunday was useful too, to check and state
The week's accounts, and keep his ledger strait.
But as for Church, prayers, sermons, and the rest,
He thought the parson managed such things best;
He therefore left them wholly to his care,
And paid his tithes, and kept all matters square.
One plain small circle, whence they rarely roved.
The world and the world's business occupied
His mind, and left small space for ought beside.
He knew he had a soul, but why or how
Had never brought one wrinkle o'er his brow;
He thought there was a God, and had heard tell
Of Christ, and future being, Heaven and Hell;
But these were matters distant all and dim;
He nas, and that was quite enough for him.
He deemed the Bible a good book, and those
That had the time might read it if they chose;
Sunday was useful too, to check and state
The week's accounts, and keep his ledger strait.
9
He thought the parson managed such things best;
He therefore left them wholly to his care,
And paid his tithes, and kept all matters square.
Still Harford's mind showed one redeeming trait.—
This man of tills, and ledgers, strange to say,
Loved Nature, loved the earth and skies. A ride
On sunday coach, a row up with the tide
On the broad Thames were life to him. Each void
Of business was in one small spot employed,
Where a few smoke-dried flowers with sickly smile,
And doubtful fragrance overpaid his toil;
And on his busiest hours of care and din
Would rural hopes and visions oft break in,
And he would pause and think how sweet it were
To change the dingy town for the fine air
And green fields of the country, and retire
To his own villa a substantial squire.
Perhaps in every human bosom lurks
A yearning towards Nature and her works,
Which neither cooping, smoking, use, or art
Can stifle quite, or banish from the heart.
This leads the pale mechanic forth to pass
His listless sabbath stretched along the grass;
This throngs the parks; and fills the one-horse chair
That wheels the cit through summer dust and glare
His sweltering sunday ride; and this could lure
Even Harford forth upon this morning's tour,
To roam at will for one whole day, and share
His fill of rural musing and fresh air.
This man of tills, and ledgers, strange to say,
Loved Nature, loved the earth and skies. A ride
On sunday coach, a row up with the tide
On the broad Thames were life to him. Each void
Of business was in one small spot employed,
Where a few smoke-dried flowers with sickly smile,
And doubtful fragrance overpaid his toil;
And on his busiest hours of care and din
Would rural hopes and visions oft break in,
And he would pause and think how sweet it were
To change the dingy town for the fine air
10
To his own villa a substantial squire.
Perhaps in every human bosom lurks
A yearning towards Nature and her works,
Which neither cooping, smoking, use, or art
Can stifle quite, or banish from the heart.
This leads the pale mechanic forth to pass
His listless sabbath stretched along the grass;
This throngs the parks; and fills the one-horse chair
That wheels the cit through summer dust and glare
His sweltering sunday ride; and this could lure
Even Harford forth upon this morning's tour,
To roam at will for one whole day, and share
His fill of rural musing and fresh air.
Now pavements, footways, walls, and lamps are passed,
And on the open turf he stands at last
And breathes and gazes. 'Tis a lovely scene,
So fresh, so bright, so fragrant and so green!
The sun up in the sky; the crops all growing;
The cattle brousing round; the hawthorns blowing;
The meads in flower; the large leaves on the trees;
The bees all out and busy; and the breeze
Just stealing from the bean-field, where he lies
Bathing his wings in balms; the butterflies
Hovering about like winged flowers; the swallow
Skimming the lake that in the grassy hollow
Trembles in cowering loveliness.—The whole
Reached even Harford's unpoetic soul;
He thought it vastly pleasant, and again
Would fetch a sunday ramble now and then.
And on the open turf he stands at last
11
So fresh, so bright, so fragrant and so green!
The sun up in the sky; the crops all growing;
The cattle brousing round; the hawthorns blowing;
The meads in flower; the large leaves on the trees;
The bees all out and busy; and the breeze
Just stealing from the bean-field, where he lies
Bathing his wings in balms; the butterflies
Hovering about like winged flowers; the swallow
Skimming the lake that in the grassy hollow
Trembles in cowering loveliness.—The whole
Reached even Harford's unpoetic soul;
He thought it vastly pleasant, and again
Would fetch a sunday ramble now and then.
But time went on: and even scenes like these
When limbs are weary lose their power to please.
Harford, I've said, was fat; had trudged some miles;
And climbed o'er sundry hills and gates and stiles:
And now uprose before him steep and high
Another hill his nerves and breath to try.
He sat down, wiped his brow, and called to mind
The desk and day-book he had left behind:
“The scene indeed was pretty, and all that,
But not to spend a day in looking at.”
And what had next occurred I cannot tell,
Had not the chiming of a distant bell
Broke on his servile musings apropos,
And roused him to cross the rise, and know
What was it and from whence. It was the sound
Which calls to sunday prayers the parish round;
Aud as he climbed the hill, more clear and clear
The joyous music rose upon his ear,
Till in a group of elms below was spied
A tall white spire, and there from every side
Up to the house of God, a chequered train,
They gathered in by every path and lane:
Young lads, and knots of talking girls, and pairs
Of decent parents with their little heirs
Scampering before to pull the king-cups; one,
The youngest, chubbiest, riding blithe upon
The father's arm. The labouring man bedight
In plain smock-frock of more than usual white,
Heaving along each slow and ponderous limb,
As if he carried them, and not they him.
Old goody here in silken cloak of black;
There farmer with his dame on Dobbin's back;
And then their maid, who runs, and rights the while
Her ribboned head, in haste to reach the aisle
Ere prayer begins. And, noted o'er the rest,
With book in hand, white tippet, and brown vest,
The little damsels of the sunday school
Pacing in marshalled file beneath the rule
Of staid instructress.—On they swarm, and all
Enter the porch before him great and small.
The bell is ceased; the busy crowd is gone;
And Harford stands reflective and alone.
When limbs are weary lose their power to please.
12
And climbed o'er sundry hills and gates and stiles:
And now uprose before him steep and high
Another hill his nerves and breath to try.
He sat down, wiped his brow, and called to mind
The desk and day-book he had left behind:
“The scene indeed was pretty, and all that,
But not to spend a day in looking at.”
And what had next occurred I cannot tell,
Had not the chiming of a distant bell
Broke on his servile musings apropos,
And roused him to cross the rise, and know
What was it and from whence. It was the sound
Which calls to sunday prayers the parish round;
Aud as he climbed the hill, more clear and clear
The joyous music rose upon his ear,
13
A tall white spire, and there from every side
Up to the house of God, a chequered train,
They gathered in by every path and lane:
Young lads, and knots of talking girls, and pairs
Of decent parents with their little heirs
Scampering before to pull the king-cups; one,
The youngest, chubbiest, riding blithe upon
The father's arm. The labouring man bedight
In plain smock-frock of more than usual white,
Heaving along each slow and ponderous limb,
As if he carried them, and not they him.
Old goody here in silken cloak of black;
There farmer with his dame on Dobbin's back;
And then their maid, who runs, and rights the while
Her ribboned head, in haste to reach the aisle
14
With book in hand, white tippet, and brown vest,
The little damsels of the sunday school
Pacing in marshalled file beneath the rule
Of staid instructress.—On they swarm, and all
Enter the porch before him great and small.
The bell is ceased; the busy crowd is gone;
And Harford stands reflective and alone.
The Sun now lorded it aloft in Heaven,
And from before his burning face had driven
The bird and brute, who slunk into the glade,
And, meek and silent, through the leafy shade
Eyed the strong Monarch. Not a living sound
Or object crossed the solitude around;
Save when by chance a bee that way came humming,
Or the dry grasshopper at hand was strumming
His monotone; or from the house of prayer
The voice of worship floated up the air.
Dim, but most sweet, like the faint memory
Of some fair vision.—Harford felt as he
Were a strange outcast there; for once he felt
A wish to bend the knee where others knelt,
And lift his voice with theirs. He onward prest
To enter in and worship with the rest;
And reached the porch just as the psalm was done,
And prayer alternate was again begun.
And from before his burning face had driven
The bird and brute, who slunk into the glade,
And, meek and silent, through the leafy shade
Eyed the strong Monarch. Not a living sound
Or object crossed the solitude around;
Save when by chance a bee that way came humming,
Or the dry grasshopper at hand was strumming
15
The voice of worship floated up the air.
Dim, but most sweet, like the faint memory
Of some fair vision.—Harford felt as he
Were a strange outcast there; for once he felt
A wish to bend the knee where others knelt,
And lift his voice with theirs. He onward prest
To enter in and worship with the rest;
And reached the porch just as the psalm was done,
And prayer alternate was again begun.
It might do good to any heart to share
The simple, solemn scene that met him there,
So peaceful, so devotional; where eye,
And lip, and heart, seemed all in harmony,
All turned to one high object,—to their God;
As if they felt him present, and were awed,
Yet not o'erwhelmed. Humility was here
To check bold zeal, and love to temper fear;
And all appeared in singleness of heart
To come as to a Father, to impart
Their wants and woes, to tell him all their cares,
Place in His hands themselves and their affairs,
Pour their thanksgivings forth for mercies past,
And humbly beg His blessing to the last.
The simple, solemn scene that met him there,
So peaceful, so devotional; where eye,
And lip, and heart, seemed all in harmony,
All turned to one high object,—to their God;
As if they felt him present, and were awed,
16
To check bold zeal, and love to temper fear;
And all appeared in singleness of heart
To come as to a Father, to impart
Their wants and woes, to tell him all their cares,
Place in His hands themselves and their affairs,
Pour their thanksgivings forth for mercies past,
And humbly beg His blessing to the last.
It was a goodly presence; and the blood
Thrilled in the veins of Harford as he viewed
Their patriarchal worship. ‘Sure’ he thought,
‘God is in this place, and I knew it not!’
How suitable the forms of prayer and praise,
In all their antique simpleness of phrase,
For hearts indeed in tune! And how much more
They spoke than when he heard them jabbered o'er
Mid whisper, cough, and yawn, and rustling gown,
And all the nuisances of Church in Town.
Religion here appeared in truth to be
A Spirt-soothing, sweet reality:
And as he gazed and listened, o'er his soul
Unwonted thoughts and feelings 'gan to roll;
And wants and wishes never felt till now
Yearned at his heart, and bathed his anxious brow.
Thrilled in the veins of Harford as he viewed
Their patriarchal worship. ‘Sure’ he thought,
‘God is in this place, and I knew it not!’
How suitable the forms of prayer and praise,
In all their antique simpleness of phrase,
For hearts indeed in tune! And how much more
They spoke than when he heard them jabbered o'er
17
And all the nuisances of Church in Town.
Religion here appeared in truth to be
A Spirt-soothing, sweet reality:
And as he gazed and listened, o'er his soul
Unwonted thoughts and feelings 'gan to roll;
And wants and wishes never felt till now
Yearned at his heart, and bathed his anxious brow.
But still went on the service. Prayers were ended;
And to the pulpit from the desk ascended
The man of God, the delegate of Heaven,
The shepherd of the fold, to whom was given
To break for them the bread of life, to guide
The wandering, soothe the wounded, wake and chide
The slothful and the wayward. On his tongue,
As if athirst to hear, the audience hung;
Till from his lips the text appropriate came,
“Our Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name.”
And to the pulpit from the desk ascended
The man of God, the delegate of Heaven,
The shepherd of the fold, to whom was given
To break for them the bread of life, to guide
The wandering, soothe the wounded, wake and chide
The slothful and the wayward. On his tongue,
As if athirst to hear, the audience hung;
18
“Our Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name.”
His air was gravity with mildness blended,
His language strong, yet simple; and descended
As soft at first as snow upon the stream.
But as he followed up his lofty theme,
He kindled like a torch as he went on;
His manner grew more earnest; and his tone
And features seemed new meaning to acquire,
Till living thoughts leaped forth in words of fire;
And round him shone a glory and a grace,
Like that which Israel's Prophet on his face,
Awful and bright, from Sinai once did bring,
And told with whom he had been communing.
His language strong, yet simple; and descended
As soft at first as snow upon the stream.
But as he followed up his lofty theme,
He kindled like a torch as he went on;
His manner grew more earnest; and his tone
And features seemed new meaning to acquire,
Till living thoughts leaped forth in words of fire;
And round him shone a glory and a grace,
Like that which Israel's Prophet on his face,
Awful and bright, from Sinai once did bring,
And told with whom he had been communing.
19
He shewed how God was Father of all men:
First by mere virtue of creation; then
By force of benefits transcendent far
Beyond what any earthly parents' are.
He shewed with what solicitude and care
He watched and kept us sinners as we were;
Bade earth give up her increase to our hand,
And seasons come and go at our demand;
Bade light and gladness round our senses play,
And health and plenty spring up in our way.
And then His pardoning long-enduring love,
His angels sent to tend us from above,
His Jesus dying on the cross for sin,
His Heaven wide opened to receive us in;
As if the Father's bliss was incomplete
Unless the child might have a part in it.
He turned him next to ask how much was owed
From children such as we to such a God.
Should we not love Him, cherish Him, who thus
So loved, so cherished, pitied, pardoned us?
Was His the spirit we should lightly grieve?
Was His the service we should loathe and leave?
Or should not rather all within us burn,
To do some little, make some poor return,
For so much done? Ah! should not all our aim
Be still to hallow and exalt His name?
First by mere virtue of creation; then
By force of benefits transcendent far
Beyond what any earthly parents' are.
He shewed with what solicitude and care
He watched and kept us sinners as we were;
Bade earth give up her increase to our hand,
And seasons come and go at our demand;
Bade light and gladness round our senses play,
And health and plenty spring up in our way.
And then His pardoning long-enduring love,
His angels sent to tend us from above,
His Jesus dying on the cross for sin,
His Heaven wide opened to receive us in;
As if the Father's bliss was incomplete
Unless the child might have a part in it.
20
From children such as we to such a God.
Should we not love Him, cherish Him, who thus
So loved, so cherished, pitied, pardoned us?
Was His the spirit we should lightly grieve?
Was His the service we should loathe and leave?
Or should not rather all within us burn,
To do some little, make some poor return,
For so much done? Ah! should not all our aim
Be still to hallow and exalt His name?
“But set aside the claims of gratitude,
The gift of life, and every living good,
The love of self were plea enough to draw
And bind our hearts to Him and to His law.
His glory and our interests are tied
And linked in bonds which nothing can divide;
And on what head may blessedness descend,
If not on his who calls the Almighty friend?
His yoke indeed is easy, and more light
Than to the bird the wing that speeds his flight,
Bearing its bearer; and His laws are those
Which Wisdom of her own accord had chose
For her own good, and these His love employs
To speed and fit us for eternal joys,
Making a duty of our interest;
Leading us thus through blessings to be blest.
And then in sorrow, sickness, pain, and strife,
And all the chances of heart-breaking life,
How sweet it is to peacefully look up,
And know a Father fills the bitter cup!
To feel 'tis mercy lifts the chastening rod,
To drive us from all other rest—to God!
When fortune frowns, friends fail, and hopes are riven,
Where should he fly who knows not Him nor Heaven?
Where should he turn when earth grows dark around,
To whom all other is forbidden ground?
Where should he turn? From God he cannot turn.
Fly from His smile, we meet him dark and stern.
Refuse Him for a Father, He nill come
A King, a Judge, to strike the apostate dumb.
Seek we the screen of night? those thousand eyes
Are His that watch us from the silent skies.
Plunge in the grave? the grave must ope her womb,
And judgment follow, and eternal doom.
Where then to fly? there is no refuge where
The godless may betake him but despair!
Ah rather seek Him, seek Him! He is good,
Apt to forgive, and willing to be sued;
More mild, more merciful, more wise and great,
Than heart can wish, or fancy can create:
He gave His Son to wash our guilt away;
And loves to pardon more than we to pray;
The future He can mend, the past atone;
Believe, repent, reform, and be His own.
The gift of life, and every living good,
The love of self were plea enough to draw
And bind our hearts to Him and to His law.
His glory and our interests are tied
And linked in bonds which nothing can divide;
21
If not on his who calls the Almighty friend?
His yoke indeed is easy, and more light
Than to the bird the wing that speeds his flight,
Bearing its bearer; and His laws are those
Which Wisdom of her own accord had chose
For her own good, and these His love employs
To speed and fit us for eternal joys,
Making a duty of our interest;
Leading us thus through blessings to be blest.
And then in sorrow, sickness, pain, and strife,
And all the chances of heart-breaking life,
How sweet it is to peacefully look up,
And know a Father fills the bitter cup!
To feel 'tis mercy lifts the chastening rod,
To drive us from all other rest—to God!
22
Where should he fly who knows not Him nor Heaven?
Where should he turn when earth grows dark around,
To whom all other is forbidden ground?
Where should he turn? From God he cannot turn.
Fly from His smile, we meet him dark and stern.
Refuse Him for a Father, He nill come
A King, a Judge, to strike the apostate dumb.
Seek we the screen of night? those thousand eyes
Are His that watch us from the silent skies.
Plunge in the grave? the grave must ope her womb,
And judgment follow, and eternal doom.
Where then to fly? there is no refuge where
The godless may betake him but despair!
Ah rather seek Him, seek Him! He is good,
Apt to forgive, and willing to be sued;
23
Than heart can wish, or fancy can create:
He gave His Son to wash our guilt away;
And loves to pardon more than we to pray;
The future He can mend, the past atone;
Believe, repent, reform, and be His own.
“If any here has yet to lift his eye,
And feel he hath a father in the sky,
Has trodden still that dark and downward way
Whose course is madness, and whose end dismay,
Here let him pause. The God whom he has held
So long in lightness will not be repelled;
He will not give him up: He will not lose
His child, His creature; but even now pursues
His wanderings, haply to perdition's brink,
And calls him while he may to stop and think;
To fly to Him from that devouring gulf,
Who loves him better than he loves himself;
Turn from despair to His protecting breast,
Hallow Him, serve Him, bless Him, and be blest.
And feel he hath a father in the sky,
Has trodden still that dark and downward way
Whose course is madness, and whose end dismay,
Here let him pause. The God whom he has held
So long in lightness will not be repelled;
He will not give him up: He will not lose
His child, His creature; but even now pursues
His wanderings, haply to perdition's brink,
And calls him while he may to stop and think;
24
Who loves him better than he loves himself;
Turn from despair to His protecting breast,
Hallow Him, serve Him, bless Him, and be blest.
“And should some yearning spirit here exclaim
How shall I hallow as I ought His name?—
Are there not laws of His to keep and do?
Rise not His temples in our land to woo
Our footsteps in? Can nothing for His sake
Be found to yield, resist, or undertake?
Loves He not prayer? Delights He not in praise?
Commands He not to train up in His ways
The infant mind? and do not thousands groan,
Children of His, and brothers of our own,
Whom we may aid? Or if our lot denies
Of outward goods a worthy sacrifice,
We all have hearts to proffer!—give Him them:—
The simple offering He will not contemn.”
How shall I hallow as I ought His name?—
Are there not laws of His to keep and do?
Rise not His temples in our land to woo
Our footsteps in? Can nothing for His sake
Be found to yield, resist, or undertake?
Loves He not prayer? Delights He not in praise?
Commands He not to train up in His ways
The infant mind? and do not thousands groan,
Children of His, and brothers of our own,
Whom we may aid? Or if our lot denies
Of outward goods a worthy sacrifice,
25
The simple offering He will not contemn.”
'Tis done. The blessing given, the service closed;
The rustics to their homes in peace disposed;
And Harford to the City moves again,
A wiser and a better man than when
He walked that way at morn. His full heart swelled
Within him now; and from its fountain welled
The unwonted tear: and though words came not, these
Breathed purer eloquence to Him who sees
The spirit's fine vibrations. He discerned
Melting contrition there, and shame that spurned
Its own misdoings; awe and humble love
That longed, yet feared, to lift an eye above,
And say, “My Father!”—God beheld the whole,
And sent to calm and reassure his soul;—
Then praise burst forth, and struggling tears found vent,
And his heart burned within him as he went.
The rustics to their homes in peace disposed;
And Harford to the City moves again,
A wiser and a better man than when
He walked that way at morn. His full heart swelled
Within him now; and from its fountain welled
The unwonted tear: and though words came not, these
Breathed purer eloquence to Him who sees
The spirit's fine vibrations. He discerned
Melting contrition there, and shame that spurned
Its own misdoings; awe and humble love
That longed, yet feared, to lift an eye above,
26
And sent to calm and reassure his soul;—
Then praise burst forth, and struggling tears found vent,
And his heart burned within him as he went.
Duly is Harford now each sabbath day
With wife and children seen in neat array
Amidst his neighbours at the house of prayer,
And none more fervent or attentive there.
From worldly interests his eye is turned
To those by Wisdom prized, by faith discerned;
He feels that wealth is best employed when spent
In His high service who the boon hath lent:
And if his earthly gains are 'minished,
He has a Heavenly treasure in their stead;
And lives to bless the day, when forth he trod
To ramble in the fields,—and met with God.
With wife and children seen in neat array
Amidst his neighbours at the house of prayer,
And none more fervent or attentive there.
From worldly interests his eye is turned
To those by Wisdom prized, by faith discerned;
He feels that wealth is best employed when spent
In His high service who the boon hath lent:
And if his earthly gains are 'minished,
He has a Heavenly treasure in their stead;
And lives to bless the day, when forth he trod
To ramble in the fields,—and met with God.
27
TALE SECOND. THE MISSIONARY.
“THY KINGDOM COME.”
29
“RISE, King of Glory, rise, resume Thy throne,
And make the empires of the earth Thy own:
Awake, appear, to strike the scoffer dumb,
Assert Thy sway and bid Thy kingdom come.
How far shall guilt and violence advance?
How long deface Thy fair inheritance?
How long shall man Thy dignities invade,
And push Thee from the world which thou hast made?
O glorify Thyself! Our toils are vain,
And only mock the cause they would sustain.
But let that voice which through primeval night
Said from on high, “Be light,” and there was light,
Let that Almighty voice again be heard
To call the nations to their rightful Lord,
And prayer and praise on every wind shall rise,
And Thou be served on Earth as in the skies!”
And make the empires of the earth Thy own:
Awake, appear, to strike the scoffer dumb,
Assert Thy sway and bid Thy kingdom come.
How far shall guilt and violence advance?
How long deface Thy fair inheritance?
How long shall man Thy dignities invade,
And push Thee from the world which thou hast made?
O glorify Thyself! Our toils are vain,
And only mock the cause they would sustain.
30
Said from on high, “Be light,” and there was light,
Let that Almighty voice again be heard
To call the nations to their rightful Lord,
And prayer and praise on every wind shall rise,
And Thou be served on Earth as in the skies!”
Such were the vows that on the lonely side
Of Mississippi rose at eventide,
And mingled with the jackall's plaintive while,
And with the plash of rushing crocodile,
With the flamingo's scream, and with the breeze
Whose wild wing strayed thro' the magnolia trees,
And with the river walking on his way
Through nations. There before a hut of clay
Knelt an old man, and lifted up his prayer
To the Great Spirit, in whose service there
He long had laboured, zealous to proclaim
To Indian wastes, his Master's saving name,
Assert the honours of the dread “I am,”
And meeken down the wolf into the lamb.
Of Mississippi rose at eventide,
And mingled with the jackall's plaintive while,
And with the plash of rushing crocodile,
With the flamingo's scream, and with the breeze
Whose wild wing strayed thro' the magnolia trees,
And with the river walking on his way
Through nations. There before a hut of clay
Knelt an old man, and lifted up his prayer
To the Great Spirit, in whose service there
31
To Indian wastes, his Master's saving name,
Assert the honours of the dread “I am,”
And meeken down the wolf into the lamb.
Nor were his toils in vain. Behold yon green
Savannah, reaching down the woods between
To the broad flood, and mid the wilderness,
Smiling as sweet as Hope amid distress.
There neat inclosures rise, and cattle graze
And vineyards bloom, and spots of rice and maize
Dapple the slope, and from a hundred huts
The smoke in wreathy column upward juts;
And where the buskined hunter roved erewhile
Now harvests wave, and hanging gardens smile;
And where the wolf was howling in his den,
Ascends the social hum of busy men,
And Christian worship swells to God around
In language newly hallowed with the sound.
Savannah, reaching down the woods between
To the broad flood, and mid the wilderness,
Smiling as sweet as Hope amid distress.
There neat inclosures rise, and cattle graze
And vineyards bloom, and spots of rice and maize
Dapple the slope, and from a hundred huts
The smoke in wreathy column upward juts;
And where the buskined hunter roved erewhile
Now harvests wave, and hanging gardens smile;
And where the wolf was howling in his den,
Ascends the social hum of busy men,
32
In language newly hallowed with the sound.
O'er that old man were forty summers flown,
Since from far lands to this wild spot alone
He came, and built his hut, and lodged his store
Among the prowlers of this lonely shore.
Those white locks then were jet, and that meek eye,
Which twinkles yet with immortality,
Looked living fire; and round his form and face
Glowed high romance, and dignity, and grace.
No common man, and with no common aim,
To his bold task the Missionary came;
And left whatever else was bright or dear,
To walk with God, and spread His Gospel here.
Since from far lands to this wild spot alone
He came, and built his hut, and lodged his store
Among the prowlers of this lonely shore.
Those white locks then were jet, and that meek eye,
Which twinkles yet with immortality,
Looked living fire; and round his form and face
Glowed high romance, and dignity, and grace.
No common man, and with no common aim,
To his bold task the Missionary came;
And left whatever else was bright or dear,
To walk with God, and spread His Gospel here.
33
And lurked there no regret in that bright eye?
Stole from his bosom no half stifled sigh?
So young, so warm, so feeling as he was,
Thus quitting all, and taking up his cross,
Mid savage lands and men to live and die,
No friend but God, no home but in the sky?
No! He had known the world, had proved the worth
Of all that wears the stamp and hue of earth;
Had played deep with Experience, and had quaffed
From her stern cup a large and bitter draught:
And finding all was frail and false around,
He turned betimes to build on stabler ground:
Steered his poor skiff from life's tempestuous sea,
And sought a haven in Eternity.
Stole from his bosom no half stifled sigh?
So young, so warm, so feeling as he was,
Thus quitting all, and taking up his cross,
Mid savage lands and men to live and die,
No friend but God, no home but in the sky?
No! He had known the world, had proved the worth
Of all that wears the stamp and hue of earth;
Had played deep with Experience, and had quaffed
From her stern cup a large and bitter draught:
And finding all was frail and false around,
He turned betimes to build on stabler ground:
Steered his poor skiff from life's tempestuous sea,
And sought a haven in Eternity.
In sooth he ill was fitted for the strife,
The storms, the buffetings, the stabs of life.
His ardent spirit was not formed to bear;
And his had been a step-son's portion there.
In early youth of both his parents reft,
To all the snares of rank and affluence left,
The boy grew up into a world of sin
With scarce a friend to guide his way therein.
His glowing mind to wild luxuriance ran;
His years passed on without an aim or plan:
Till into life he stepped at last, as wild,
As simple, and confiding as a child.
The storms, the buffetings, the stabs of life.
34
And his had been a step-son's portion there.
In early youth of both his parents reft,
To all the snares of rank and affluence left,
The boy grew up into a world of sin
With scarce a friend to guide his way therein.
His glowing mind to wild luxuriance ran;
His years passed on without an aim or plan:
Till into life he stepped at last, as wild,
As simple, and confiding as a child.
Yet deem him not, untutored as he was,
A thing of sense, a lump of clay and dross.
His heart was warm and open as the spring,
A rich toned lyre that thrilled through every string,
Alive to bliss, and prone to melt and move
At each appeal of friendship and of love.
He banqueted on music; and his taste
Was quick to all of beautiful aud chaste.
He looked on nature with a painter's eye,
And caught the soul of speaking poesy.
And though possessed of no outstanding trait
Which burthened memory cannot put away,
No character energic, bold, defined,
That haunts, and fills, and triumphs o'er, the mind;
Yet see him, hear him, and anon there stole
A spell around that rivetted the soul;
And a mysterious interest gradual grew,
Till all about him strange observance drew,
And round his influence breathed, and spread a tone
O'er other minds congenial with his own.
A thing of sense, a lump of clay and dross.
His heart was warm and open as the spring,
A rich toned lyre that thrilled through every string,
Alive to bliss, and prone to melt and move
At each appeal of friendship and of love.
35
Was quick to all of beautiful aud chaste.
He looked on nature with a painter's eye,
And caught the soul of speaking poesy.
And though possessed of no outstanding trait
Which burthened memory cannot put away,
No character energic, bold, defined,
That haunts, and fills, and triumphs o'er, the mind;
Yet see him, hear him, and anon there stole
A spell around that rivetted the soul;
And a mysterious interest gradual grew,
Till all about him strange observance drew,
And round his influence breathed, and spread a tone
O'er other minds congenial with his own.
Such, and so circumstanced, it was his lot
To dwell with those who knew and prized him not.
His sphere was narrow. Fate had set him down
On the dull confines of a country town,
Where he was made the idol and the dupe
Of creatures to whose arts he scorned to stoop.
Thence friends thronged round him, and professions loud
And greeting smiles attended him. The cloud
Fled from all brows before him; and he moved
In every circle courted and beloved.
The ladies thought him sweetly sentimental:
Their mothers canvassed o'er his handsome rental.
And though all thought him odd, nay some said mad,
None could esteem his face or person bad,
And then how fine a property he had!
Sure a good spouse and jointure must await
The maid that might secure her such a mate.
To dwell with those who knew and prized him not.
36
On the dull confines of a country town,
Where he was made the idol and the dupe
Of creatures to whose arts he scorned to stoop.
Thence friends thronged round him, and professions loud
And greeting smiles attended him. The cloud
Fled from all brows before him; and he moved
In every circle courted and beloved.
The ladies thought him sweetly sentimental:
Their mothers canvassed o'er his handsome rental.
And though all thought him odd, nay some said mad,
None could esteem his face or person bad,
And then how fine a property he had!
Sure a good spouse and jointure must await
The maid that might secure her such a mate.
Thus many a sigh was breathed, and not in vain.
There was one blue-eyed girl among the train,
Retiring, gentle, graceful, fair and tall,
Who bore the prize away from midst them all.
Little she said; but oh that eye!—that eye!—
What did it not in its blue archery?
He shrunk before it;—yet returned to ask
Permission in its milder light to bask;
Was heard,—received,—and nothing now there needs,
But fix the day, and draw the marriage deeds.
There was one blue-eyed girl among the train,
37
Who bore the prize away from midst them all.
Little she said; but oh that eye!—that eye!—
What did it not in its blue archery?
He shrunk before it;—yet returned to ask
Permission in its milder light to bask;
Was heard,—received,—and nothing now there needs,
But fix the day, and draw the marriage deeds.
I say not how the hours from hence were spent;
I pass each sigh, and look and blandishment,
The air-built castle, the sequestered walk
With trembling arm-in-arm, and all the talk
'Bout poetry, and trees, and flowers, and skies,
And young Love's thousand hopes and phantasies;—
Nor can I tell how they had matched for life,
What husband he had made, and she what wife:
For when all else was settled, and there now
Remained but just the priest, and ring, and vow,
News came, that one, on whom, as on his soul,
He rested, and resigned to him the whole
Of his affairs, was fled, and with him bore
The bulk of all his patron owned before.
I pass each sigh, and look and blandishment,
The air-built castle, the sequestered walk
With trembling arm-in-arm, and all the talk
'Bout poetry, and trees, and flowers, and skies,
And young Love's thousand hopes and phantasies;—
Nor can I tell how they had matched for life,
What husband he had made, and she what wife:
38
Remained but just the priest, and ring, and vow,
News came, that one, on whom, as on his soul,
He rested, and resigned to him the whole
Of his affairs, was fled, and with him bore
The bulk of all his patron owned before.
Pursuit was made,—in vain,—and clear away
The perjured villain carried off his prey;
And home his dupe returned, less keenly feeling
His loss of substance, than the traitorous dealing
Of one so loved. He felt that he had leant
Upon a faithless reed, that broke, and went
Into his heart. A sweet dream was dispelled;
A thousand beauteous fancies all were quelled:
The world lost half her lustre; her fair dress
Was rent, and through appeared her nakedness.
The tendrils of his heart, that wont to stretch
And twine round every object they could catch,
Were nipped, his sympathies were chilled, and fled
The curdling life blood to its fountain head.
The perjured villain carried off his prey;
And home his dupe returned, less keenly feeling
His loss of substance, than the traitorous dealing
Of one so loved. He felt that he had leant
Upon a faithless reed, that broke, and went
Into his heart. A sweet dream was dispelled;
A thousand beauteous fancies all were quelled:
The world lost half her lustre; her fair dress
Was rent, and through appeared her nakedness.
39
And twine round every object they could catch,
Were nipped, his sympathies were chilled, and fled
The curdling life blood to its fountain head.
But there was more to suffer. Ah! the crew
Were mean and base with whom he had to do!
Much had been proffered, and it was not much
To look for some concern, some kindly touch
Of sympathy to mitigate his shock:
But all fell off, like waves from round a rock.
They that were yesterday all cringe and bow,
Stared in his face, or swaggered past him now.
At once their smiles and welcomes and respect
Grew cold civility, or proud neglect.
He seemed a dead weight on their hands: his pelf
Was gone, and he a cypher in himself.
Were mean and base with whom he had to do!
Much had been proffered, and it was not much
To look for some concern, some kindly touch
Of sympathy to mitigate his shock:
But all fell off, like waves from round a rock.
They that were yesterday all cringe and bow,
Stared in his face, or swaggered past him now.
At once their smiles and welcomes and respect
Grew cold civility, or proud neglect.
He seemed a dead weight on their hands: his pelf
Was gone, and he a cypher in himself.
40
But there was yet one breast, where he might hide
His outcast head, though all were false beside;
One faithful friend, one gentle comforter,
That would not shrink from him; and O it were
An Eden still to gather up the wrecks
Of his past wealth, and fly from all the checks
And wrongs of a bad world, and be with her
Beyond the reach of knave or flatterer,
Nestling in some sweet cottage far removed
From man's intrusion, loving and beloved!
On with such thoughts his pathway he pursued
Up to the well known door, his darker mood
Clearing and brightening as he went. At last
He reached the threshold, and would thence have passed
On to her presence as he wont; but there
A servant stops him ere he mounts the stair,
And begs, with many a scrape and bow, to say,
That his young mistress can't be seen to day.
His outcast head, though all were false beside;
One faithful friend, one gentle comforter,
That would not shrink from him; and O it were
An Eden still to gather up the wrecks
Of his past wealth, and fly from all the checks
And wrongs of a bad world, and be with her
Beyond the reach of knave or flatterer,
Nestling in some sweet cottage far removed
From man's intrusion, loving and beloved!
On with such thoughts his pathway he pursued
Up to the well known door, his darker mood
Clearing and brightening as he went. At last
He reached the threshold, and would thence have passed
On to her presence as he wont; but there
A servant stops him ere he mounts the stair,
41
That his young mistress can't be seen to day.
A letter followed cold and brief, expressing
Her thanks for past attentions, and professing
A high esteem; but she regretted much,
That circumstances were no longer such
As would admit their union; and in fine,
She begged all future visits to decline.
Her thanks for past attentions, and professing
A high esteem; but she regretted much,
That circumstances were no longer such
As would admit their union; and in fine,
She begged all future visits to decline.
It was enough. He now had known the worst:
He wept not, though his heart was nigh to burst:
He raved not, cursed not, though to both inclined;
But calmly turned his back upon mankind.
He made the woods his mate, and to the breeze
Poured out his spirit's baleful reveries.
He walked the mountain tops; and loved to lie
And follow the light clouds along the sky,
And shape and name them in his moods: he pryed
Into the cups of flowers; and o'er the side
Of streams would lean and watch the fish at play:
Or at the close of evening roam away
Among the dews, and linger till the sky
Grew beautiful with stars, and sounds from high
Came to him through the stillness of the night,
And his soul mingled with the infinite
And rose from earth; and here it was that first
Upon his intellectual darkness burst
The Majesty of God: amid the woods,
The solemn rocks, blue skies, and sounding floods
He grew familiar with Him, learnt to trace
His power, His love, His wisdom, and His grace,
From suns and planets down to the poor blade
That trembled at his foot. His spirit made
A friend of God; and with the flowers and birds
Breathed up a worship which no earthly words
Could adequately utter; till with Him
Conversing, this poor earth grew dark and dim;
And the large spirit bursting every bond,
Rose on immortal wing and soared beyond
The bounds of time and space, and joyed to roam,
And drink the glories of its native home;
And heavenly longings swelled within his breast,
And his heart thirsted for eternal rest.
He wept not, though his heart was nigh to burst:
He raved not, cursed not, though to both inclined;
But calmly turned his back upon mankind.
He made the woods his mate, and to the breeze
Poured out his spirit's baleful reveries.
42
And follow the light clouds along the sky,
And shape and name them in his moods: he pryed
Into the cups of flowers; and o'er the side
Of streams would lean and watch the fish at play:
Or at the close of evening roam away
Among the dews, and linger till the sky
Grew beautiful with stars, and sounds from high
Came to him through the stillness of the night,
And his soul mingled with the infinite
And rose from earth; and here it was that first
Upon his intellectual darkness burst
The Majesty of God: amid the woods,
The solemn rocks, blue skies, and sounding floods
He grew familiar with Him, learnt to trace
His power, His love, His wisdom, and His grace,
43
That trembled at his foot. His spirit made
A friend of God; and with the flowers and birds
Breathed up a worship which no earthly words
Could adequately utter; till with Him
Conversing, this poor earth grew dark and dim;
And the large spirit bursting every bond,
Rose on immortal wing and soared beyond
The bounds of time and space, and joyed to roam,
And drink the glories of its native home;
And heavenly longings swelled within his breast,
And his heart thirsted for eternal rest.
“A few more suns and moons,” he thought, and then
A long farewell to earth and earthly men;
A full release from guilt, and guile, and woe,
And all the spirit weeps or fears below.
O it is joy to think the day shall be
When all chains will drop off, and we be free;
When every cloud shall pass from off our sky,
And every tear be wiped from every eye!
Roll on, ye seasons, bring that blessed time
Unstained with grief, unspotted with a crime!
O wheel this ruin of a world away,
And usher in that long bright Sabbath-day!”
A long farewell to earth and earthly men;
A full release from guilt, and guile, and woe,
And all the spirit weeps or fears below.
44
When all chains will drop off, and we be free;
When every cloud shall pass from off our sky,
And every tear be wiped from every eye!
Roll on, ye seasons, bring that blessed time
Unstained with grief, unspotted with a crime!
O wheel this ruin of a world away,
And usher in that long bright Sabbath-day!”
There are fond hearts that cannot do without
Some object upon which they may pour out
Their overflowing love, and his was one;
And now that earthly objects all were gone,
He turned for such to Heaven; and there he gazed
Till every feeling was refined and raised
From earth, and he appeared to stand the last
Lone being of some generation past,
Longing and reaching to a better place,
With little wish to linger on his race;
For he had other aims and views than they
Through whose strange land his transient journey lay.
His eye was fixed on God; and there had dwelt
So long and earnestly, he almost felt
Identified with Him. God was his bliss;
God's glory, was his glory; God's cause his;
He had no being but in God; no rest
Nor happiness apart from Him. He blest
The very flower that breathed its balm on high,
And would not trample on it. In his eye
The poorest leaf grew precious, for it bore
The impress of Almighty hands: nay more,
The very scorn and hatred he had felt
To faithless men before, began to melt
Down into love and pity; for they were
Children of God's and objects of His care,
Although they knew Him not, they loved him not—
There was a desolation in that thought—
He could not brook to think there should be one
Who knew not Him his soul so hung upon:
And when he turned his eyes the world around,
And thought how many were to whom the sound
Of their Creator's name was all unknown,
His heart bled in him, and he longed to own
An angel's voice. He saw from every shore
Ten thousand hands outstretching to implore
His guidance, pleading for the sacred bread
On which his own more favored spirit fed;
And God's sweet promise fired him, “blessed they
Who feed my sheep, and gather those that stray.”
Some object upon which they may pour out
Their overflowing love, and his was one;
And now that earthly objects all were gone,
He turned for such to Heaven; and there he gazed
Till every feeling was refined and raised
From earth, and he appeared to stand the last
Lone being of some generation past,
45
With little wish to linger on his race;
For he had other aims and views than they
Through whose strange land his transient journey lay.
His eye was fixed on God; and there had dwelt
So long and earnestly, he almost felt
Identified with Him. God was his bliss;
God's glory, was his glory; God's cause his;
He had no being but in God; no rest
Nor happiness apart from Him. He blest
The very flower that breathed its balm on high,
And would not trample on it. In his eye
The poorest leaf grew precious, for it bore
The impress of Almighty hands: nay more,
The very scorn and hatred he had felt
To faithless men before, began to melt
46
Children of God's and objects of His care,
Although they knew Him not, they loved him not—
There was a desolation in that thought—
He could not brook to think there should be one
Who knew not Him his soul so hung upon:
And when he turned his eyes the world around,
And thought how many were to whom the sound
Of their Creator's name was all unknown,
His heart bled in him, and he longed to own
An angel's voice. He saw from every shore
Ten thousand hands outstretching to implore
His guidance, pleading for the sacred bread
On which his own more favored spirit fed;
And God's sweet promise fired him, “blessed they
Who feed my sheep, and gather those that stray.”
47
Then came the voice of prophecy, and told
Of whiter days, when all should be one fold
Under one shepherd; when the brows that bled
Beneath the platted thorns should wear instead
The crown of Glory, and descend to reign
O'er Earth subjected to her God again.
When Eden's hours once more on golden wing
Should visit man, Creation laugh and sing,
The billows clap their hands, and to the skies
On every wind glad hallelujahs rise,
Sorrow and sin, and violence, and fraud
Disperse before one kindling look from God,
And the Redeemed around their Saviour prove
On earth a foretaste of the joys above.
Of whiter days, when all should be one fold
Under one shepherd; when the brows that bled
Beneath the platted thorns should wear instead
The crown of Glory, and descend to reign
O'er Earth subjected to her God again.
When Eden's hours once more on golden wing
Should visit man, Creation laugh and sing,
The billows clap their hands, and to the skies
On every wind glad hallelujahs rise,
Sorrow and sin, and violence, and fraud
Disperse before one kindling look from God,
And the Redeemed around their Saviour prove
On earth a foretaste of the joys above.
Musing on themes like these his soul took fire,
And sprung up in him an intense desire
To bear the cross to foreign lands, and dare
A Missionary's toils and dangers there.
A momentary pause, a passing swell
Of heart; a line to her he loved so well:
Then rose his sail before the vagrant wind,
And calm he left his native land behind.
And sprung up in him an intense desire
48
A Missionary's toils and dangers there.
A momentary pause, a passing swell
Of heart; a line to her he loved so well:
Then rose his sail before the vagrant wind,
And calm he left his native land behind.
“Beloved and lovely,” (thus his letter ran)
“Hear the last words of a devoted man.
I write not to implore, reproach, or grieve:
I simply send to say that I forgive:
Blest if that word from any pang may free
A heart I would not have distressed through me,
A heart round which I wish more joys to twine
Than thy repulse once seemed to snatch from mine.
But this is over now. My soul, though late,
Has found a nobler aim, a higher mate;
God is the object of my love; and I
Go forth to distant lands to lift on high
His glorious ensign. We no more shall meet,
Till thou shalt see me to their Judge's feet
Leadnig my little flock. O may this be
A joyful meeting to both thee and me!
May we be joined in better bonds than e'er
Our fondest thoughts anticipated here!
Farewell! my prayer shall rise when far away
For thy dear sake to Him I there obey;
And ah do thou at times a thought bestow
On him who scarce knows how to let thee go
So loved, so lost;—I feel I must not dwell
On themes like these; once more, Farewell, Farewell!
“Hear the last words of a devoted man.
I write not to implore, reproach, or grieve:
I simply send to say that I forgive:
Blest if that word from any pang may free
A heart I would not have distressed through me,
A heart round which I wish more joys to twine
Than thy repulse once seemed to snatch from mine.
But this is over now. My soul, though late,
Has found a nobler aim, a higher mate;
49
Go forth to distant lands to lift on high
His glorious ensign. We no more shall meet,
Till thou shalt see me to their Judge's feet
Leadnig my little flock. O may this be
A joyful meeting to both thee and me!
May we be joined in better bonds than e'er
Our fondest thoughts anticipated here!
Farewell! my prayer shall rise when far away
For thy dear sake to Him I there obey;
And ah do thou at times a thought bestow
On him who scarce knows how to let thee go
So loved, so lost;—I feel I must not dwell
On themes like these; once more, Farewell, Farewell!
50
The bounding deep is passed, and lo he stands
A stranger now on Transatlantic lands,
Mid giant lakes, and streams, and woods, and plains,
Where nature in eternal grandeur reigns;
And as he passes through them to his charge,
He feels his spirit mount, his thoughts enlarge;
And “here indeed,” he cries, “are works of thine
Worthy Thyself, my God! These depths of pine
Are pathless but to Thee; to Thee these floods
Lift up their voices. In their various moods
Of terrible or tranquil they pourtray
Thy image, shew Thy majesty, and say
“Behold Omnipotence! And thou bright eye
Of heaven, thou Sun, that walkest here on high
A king indeed, methinks one look at thee
Were all enough to set the spirit free,
And chase the mists of error, and declare
The God whose minister thou standest there!”
A stranger now on Transatlantic lands,
Mid giant lakes, and streams, and woods, and plains,
Where nature in eternal grandeur reigns;
And as he passes through them to his charge,
He feels his spirit mount, his thoughts enlarge;
And “here indeed,” he cries, “are works of thine
Worthy Thyself, my God! These depths of pine
Are pathless but to Thee; to Thee these floods
Lift up their voices. In their various moods
Of terrible or tranquil they pourtray
Thy image, shew Thy majesty, and say
“Behold Omnipotence! And thou bright eye
Of heaven, thou Sun, that walkest here on high
A king indeed, methinks one look at thee
Were all enough to set the spirit free,
51
The God whose minister thou standest there!”
So spake fond hope, so thought romantic youth,
But sage Experience told a sterner truth;
And many a toilsome day and sleepless night
Checked his enthusiast zeal, and set it right.
He learnt a simpler, soberer way to try,
And point by plainer precepts to the sky.
He settled mid a fierce uncultured train
Wild as the wind and lawless as the main;
And sought in vain for many a darkling year
To charm the deaf dull adder in their ear:
To raise to human what before was brute,
And lead the wanderers to their Saviour's foot.
He found them dark, the slaves of sin and sense,
Preoccupied with thoughts and aims intense,
Snatching from danger's lap their daily bread,
And hourly shaking hands with pain and dread,
Strong in delusion, proud, self-satisfied,
Married to earth, and spurning all beside.
Yet patience, perseverance, faith and prayer
Found in the end their promised blessing there;
And precept upon precept, line on line,
Awoke at length a sense of things divine:
Gave conscience a new sanction, and o'erawed
The rising passions with a present God.
Upon the night of many a heathen mind
The Sun of righteousness arose and shined,
And ushered in that morn serene and bright
Whose noon goes on into eternal light.
Rapine and force their wonted seats forsook,
The spear was changed into the pruning hook,
The heart of stone grew flesh, and mid the wild
The Arts and Charities sprung up and smiled.
Old Mississippi saw with proud surprise
The cot and vineyard on his side arise:
And smoothed his wave, and lingered in his race,
Young culture's footsteps on his banks to trace,
To kiss the all unwonted flowers, and hear
The voice of Christian worship swelling near;
Then sullen flung him onward to the main
To meet no more such sights and sounds again.
But sage Experience told a sterner truth;
And many a toilsome day and sleepless night
Checked his enthusiast zeal, and set it right.
He learnt a simpler, soberer way to try,
And point by plainer precepts to the sky.
He settled mid a fierce uncultured train
Wild as the wind and lawless as the main;
And sought in vain for many a darkling year
To charm the deaf dull adder in their ear:
To raise to human what before was brute,
And lead the wanderers to their Saviour's foot.
52
Preoccupied with thoughts and aims intense,
Snatching from danger's lap their daily bread,
And hourly shaking hands with pain and dread,
Strong in delusion, proud, self-satisfied,
Married to earth, and spurning all beside.
Yet patience, perseverance, faith and prayer
Found in the end their promised blessing there;
And precept upon precept, line on line,
Awoke at length a sense of things divine:
Gave conscience a new sanction, and o'erawed
The rising passions with a present God.
Upon the night of many a heathen mind
The Sun of righteousness arose and shined,
And ushered in that morn serene and bright
Whose noon goes on into eternal light.
53
The spear was changed into the pruning hook,
The heart of stone grew flesh, and mid the wild
The Arts and Charities sprung up and smiled.
Old Mississippi saw with proud surprise
The cot and vineyard on his side arise:
And smoothed his wave, and lingered in his race,
Young culture's footsteps on his banks to trace,
To kiss the all unwonted flowers, and hear
The voice of Christian worship swelling near;
Then sullen flung him onward to the main
To meet no more such sights and sounds again.
And ah what felt our Missionary there?
How looked he on the children of his care?
With what sensations did he watch and trace
The gradual progress of reclaiming grace?
And see the savage scene beneath his eye
Rise into life and form, and harmony?
'Twas bliss, but not for human tongue to shew;
'Twas pride akin to that which angels know
Tending their charge to Heaven, all unallied
To earth, and shaming every joy beside.
Here in an Eden of his own he moved,
And led the worship of the God he loved;
Brought the blind sight, and language to the dumb,
And saw the kingdom of his Father come.
Here undisturbed he mused on things above,
And praised amid His works the God of love;
To Him his voice arose with morning's light,
And when above his lonely hut at night
The wind made solemn music in the trees,
God came down to him walking on the breeze,
And brought him awful joy. And thus afar
From earthly heed or hindrance, care or jar
His life ran smoothly onward. God from high
Looked on his labors with approving eye,
The spirit loved within his breast to dwell,
And angels often whispered all is well.
With late and gentle call he was removed
Hence to the home he sought, the God he loved.
He closed his eyes to rest one happy night
To ope them wondering in eternal light.
Still may be seen on Mississippi's side
The little hut the good man occupied;
The old oak spreading o'er the grassy mound
From which he taught his people standing round.
And still the pious traveller loves to stay,
And kneel down by his lowly grave to pray,
And hear his converts tell with honest pride
How holily he lived, how calmly died.
How looked he on the children of his care?
54
The gradual progress of reclaiming grace?
And see the savage scene beneath his eye
Rise into life and form, and harmony?
'Twas bliss, but not for human tongue to shew;
'Twas pride akin to that which angels know
Tending their charge to Heaven, all unallied
To earth, and shaming every joy beside.
Here in an Eden of his own he moved,
And led the worship of the God he loved;
Brought the blind sight, and language to the dumb,
And saw the kingdom of his Father come.
Here undisturbed he mused on things above,
And praised amid His works the God of love;
To Him his voice arose with morning's light,
And when above his lonely hut at night
55
God came down to him walking on the breeze,
And brought him awful joy. And thus afar
From earthly heed or hindrance, care or jar
His life ran smoothly onward. God from high
Looked on his labors with approving eye,
The spirit loved within his breast to dwell,
And angels often whispered all is well.
With late and gentle call he was removed
Hence to the home he sought, the God he loved.
He closed his eyes to rest one happy night
To ope them wondering in eternal light.
Still may be seen on Mississippi's side
The little hut the good man occupied;
The old oak spreading o'er the grassy mound
From which he taught his people standing round.
56
And kneel down by his lowly grave to pray,
And hear his converts tell with honest pride
How holily he lived, how calmly died.
57
TALE THIRD. THE WIDOW.
“THY WILL BE DONE.”
59
“HERE, peep in through the window. I will pull
This knot of woodbine back that hangs too full
Across the leaded lattice. Do not fear,
Our presence will not interrupt her here.
She cannot note us: to her aged sight
Nature is blankness now, and day is night;
And all her thoughts are occupied. See, where
She kneels in yonder nook in quiet prayer.
And mark that lifted face, which beams as bright
As if an angel, hovering near, shook light
Down from his wings upon it. Looks it not
Most beautifully tranquil? Then her cot,
You note how orderly and neat 'tis kept,
The tiled floor crisp with sand, the hearth clean swept,
The dresser with its well-washed range of delf,
Her five good volumes set out on their shelf,
And then the four old chairs with backs so tall,
And all the bible prints around the wall—
It is a pretty picture. Take one gaze;
Then turn we hence a moment while she prays;
And as we go and come, receive from me
The old blind widow's simple history!”
This knot of woodbine back that hangs too full
Across the leaded lattice. Do not fear,
Our presence will not interrupt her here.
She cannot note us: to her aged sight
Nature is blankness now, and day is night;
And all her thoughts are occupied. See, where
She kneels in yonder nook in quiet prayer.
And mark that lifted face, which beams as bright
As if an angel, hovering near, shook light
60
Most beautifully tranquil? Then her cot,
You note how orderly and neat 'tis kept,
The tiled floor crisp with sand, the hearth clean swept,
The dresser with its well-washed range of delf,
Her five good volumes set out on their shelf,
And then the four old chairs with backs so tall,
And all the bible prints around the wall—
It is a pretty picture. Take one gaze;
Then turn we hence a moment while she prays;
And as we go and come, receive from me
The old blind widow's simple history!”
We crossed the little court, and entered in
Through a latched wicket in a privet screen,
The fence of a small garden, where there grew
Sweet marjoram, and thyme, and mint, and rue,
And star-eyed marigolds; and in one spot
Of bashful flowers a solitary knot.
Here the black currants good for colds appear,
And there a few old plums and apples rear
Their mossy trunks. The rest is planted thick
With cabbage and potato, bean and leek
In useful alternation. At the end
Where yonder group of long lithe osiers bend,
Out wells a little spring, and onward passes
Hiding itself among the flags and grasses,
From whence with playful foot it leaps anon,
And o'er the neighbouring field runs laughing in the sun.
Hard by the well a little arbour stood,
Here we sat down, and thus my friend pursued.
Through a latched wicket in a privet screen,
The fence of a small garden, where there grew
Sweet marjoram, and thyme, and mint, and rue,
61
Of bashful flowers a solitary knot.
Here the black currants good for colds appear,
And there a few old plums and apples rear
Their mossy trunks. The rest is planted thick
With cabbage and potato, bean and leek
In useful alternation. At the end
Where yonder group of long lithe osiers bend,
Out wells a little spring, and onward passes
Hiding itself among the flags and grasses,
From whence with playful foot it leaps anon,
And o'er the neighbouring field runs laughing in the sun.
Hard by the well a little arbour stood,
Here we sat down, and thus my friend pursued.
“That poor old widowed thing we just have seen
Of all the country side was once the queen;
With temper, form, and manners that could move
Each maid to envy, and each youth to love.
Her father, a substantial churl, had piled
A goodly portion for his only child;
And 'twas his fondest wish on earth to see
His darling Jessy married suitably.”
Of all the country side was once the queen;
62
Each maid to envy, and each youth to love.
Her father, a substantial churl, had piled
A goodly portion for his only child;
And 'twas his fondest wish on earth to see
His darling Jessy married suitably.”
“Young Richard Gray was handsome, frank and boon,
Pleasant as nature in her own sweet June;
In all the neighbouring hamlets none could tell
A blither tale, or dance, or sing as well.
Happy the maid who might on holiday
Walk on the green and chat with Richard Gray;
And merry 'twas in alehouse or in fair
When rattling Richard laughed and revelled there.
Dressed out on sunday in his best attire
He looked and moved as brave as any squire.”
Pleasant as nature in her own sweet June;
In all the neighbouring hamlets none could tell
A blither tale, or dance, or sing as well.
Happy the maid who might on holiday
Walk on the green and chat with Richard Gray;
And merry 'twas in alehouse or in fair
When rattling Richard laughed and revelled there.
Dressed out on sunday in his best attire
He looked and moved as brave as any squire.”
63
“So thought poor Jessy, in whose simple ear
Richard had breathed what she had blushed to hear;
He met her oft in lane and field and grove
And whispered there the music of his love.
Her sire indeed the growing friendship saw,
And sternly tried to check it and o'erawe.
“Marry a clown? my child? who might aspire
To win and wear a captain or a squire?—
Look on an idle, dangling, thriftless sot?
Break with him, girl, this moment; or if not,
Take your own course! aye do! and starve and rot.”
Richard had breathed what she had blushed to hear;
He met her oft in lane and field and grove
And whispered there the music of his love.
Her sire indeed the growing friendship saw,
And sternly tried to check it and o'erawe.
“Marry a clown? my child? who might aspire
To win and wear a captain or a squire?—
Look on an idle, dangling, thriftless sot?
Break with him, girl, this moment; or if not,
Take your own course! aye do! and starve and rot.”
But there were words which soon sent these aside.
“Come, lovely Jessy, come and be my bride!
My little cot stands white upon the hill,
The roses clamber round its porch at will;
Before, my garden and its blossomed trees
All bright with flowers and musical with bees;
Behind, my little farm and sheep and kine;
Come, lovely Jessy, come, they all are thine!
Fly from a frowning father, and with me
Come live and love, secure and fond and free.”
“Come, lovely Jessy, come and be my bride!
My little cot stands white upon the hill,
The roses clamber round its porch at will;
64
All bright with flowers and musical with bees;
Behind, my little farm and sheep and kine;
Come, lovely Jessy, come, they all are thine!
Fly from a frowning father, and with me
Come live and love, secure and fond and free.”
“She went,—they wedded,—and all things awhile,
Save an offended father, seemed to smile.—
Richard was kind, and for his Jessy's sake
Gave up his jollities at fair and wake;
He laboured hard all day, and home at night
Returned to lay before her with delight
His earnings, and sit down in peace to share
The frugal meal prepared by Jessy's care.
And then in chatting, working, reading, fled
The evening swiftly till the hour of bed;
When down in peaceful sleep betimes they lay
To wake up to their wonted toils with day.
Save an offended father, seemed to smile.—
Richard was kind, and for his Jessy's sake
Gave up his jollities at fair and wake;
He laboured hard all day, and home at night
Returned to lay before her with delight
His earnings, and sit down in peace to share
The frugal meal prepared by Jessy's care.
And then in chatting, working, reading, fled
The evening swiftly till the hour of bed;
65
To wake up to their wonted toils with day.
Thus all went well, and Jessy shortly came
To add a mother's to a spouse's name.
And a fair boy, bounding with health and grace
Looked up his father in her happy face.
The crops were good, the cattle thrived, the rent
Was paid, and all was comfort and content.—
To add a mother's to a spouse's name.
And a fair boy, bounding with health and grace
Looked up his father in her happy face.
The crops were good, the cattle thrived, the rent
Was paid, and all was comfort and content.—
Why must I paint this picture's dark reverse;
Why shew how canker-like a father's curse
Clung to them? first a rainy season came,
And lodged their corn; and then their horse fell lame;
Their best cow died in calf, provisions too
Grew scarce and dear; and there was nought to do.—
And as their substance 'minished, with it fled
Poor Richard's ease; and gloom and care instead
Grew on him, soured his temper, checked his tongue,
And o'er his brow a cloudy blackness hung.
His house grew cheerless to him, and his farm
Presented nought but ruin and alarm;
While idleness, the sufferer's restless curse,
Hung on him too, and made all crosses worse:
Moody and dark he sauntered from his home
In fretful discontent to sigh and roam.
His former haunts and habits by degrees
Won on him, promising a transient ease;
Till in the alehouse soon he daily sought
A desperate refuge from himself and thought!
Why shew how canker-like a father's curse
Clung to them? first a rainy season came,
And lodged their corn; and then their horse fell lame;
Their best cow died in calf, provisions too
Grew scarce and dear; and there was nought to do.—
66
Poor Richard's ease; and gloom and care instead
Grew on him, soured his temper, checked his tongue,
And o'er his brow a cloudy blackness hung.
His house grew cheerless to him, and his farm
Presented nought but ruin and alarm;
While idleness, the sufferer's restless curse,
Hung on him too, and made all crosses worse:
Moody and dark he sauntered from his home
In fretful discontent to sigh and roam.
His former haunts and habits by degrees
Won on him, promising a transient ease;
Till in the alehouse soon he daily sought
A desperate refuge from himself and thought!
Jessy with dread beheld the change, and tried
By every art to charm this mood aside;
Made light of every ill, plied all her wiles,
Locked up her cares, and tasked her face to smiles.
She placed her little babe upon his knees,
Hung on his neck, looked up, and sought to seize
His wandering vacant eye,—in vain, in vain;—
Instead of answering tenderness again,
Disgust in harsh impatience ill concealed
Repulsed her efforts and her spirit chilled;
And forth anon she saw him blindly go,
To seek his cups and leave her to her woe.
Still she forbore, nor by one look expressed
The storm of feelings working in her breast.
She spoke not; chided not; but conscious shame
Read in her kindest acts reproach and blame;
And brutal violence, the more inflamed
By sense of wrongs inflicted and unblamed,
Burst out on her in language loud and high—
Which, save in quiet tears, found no reply!
By every art to charm this mood aside;
67
Locked up her cares, and tasked her face to smiles.
She placed her little babe upon his knees,
Hung on his neck, looked up, and sought to seize
His wandering vacant eye,—in vain, in vain;—
Instead of answering tenderness again,
Disgust in harsh impatience ill concealed
Repulsed her efforts and her spirit chilled;
And forth anon she saw him blindly go,
To seek his cups and leave her to her woe.
Still she forbore, nor by one look expressed
The storm of feelings working in her breast.
She spoke not; chided not; but conscious shame
Read in her kindest acts reproach and blame;
And brutal violence, the more inflamed
By sense of wrongs inflicted and unblamed,
68
Which, save in quiet tears, found no reply!
“Month after month rolled on, and brought no change
Till neighbours shunned them, and old friends grew strange;
Her father in his anger sternly smiled
On the just meed of a rebellious child,
And he, who should have been her stay, her friend,
Looked but to frown, or spoke to reprehend.
Where could she turn for comfort? Ah it came
But cold and cheerless through a husband's blame;
And less she deemed it to abide the press
Of boding thoughts, and wrongs, and loneliness
Than words that wounded him. She therefore kept
Her feelings down, and plied her hands, and wept.”
Till neighbours shunned them, and old friends grew strange;
Her father in his anger sternly smiled
On the just meed of a rebellious child,
And he, who should have been her stay, her friend,
Looked but to frown, or spoke to reprehend.
Where could she turn for comfort? Ah it came
But cold and cheerless through a husband's blame;
And less she deemed it to abide the press
Of boding thoughts, and wrongs, and loneliness
Than words that wounded him. She therefore kept
Her feelings down, and plied her hands, and wept.”
69
“One night her husband o'er his cups delayed,
And she, as oft accustomed now, afraid
And anxious for his safety, took the road
To find and lead him to his lone abode.
She dared not seek the alehouse, and support
Its drunken inmates' coarse and ribbald sport;
But still he must not walk alone where lay
The long canal beside his reeling way.
And here, her little Richard in her hand,
Beneath the silent moon she took her stand
Most desolate, and heard at times from far
Their loud wild laughter, and their brutal jar.
She looked upon her infant, and the whole
Of her lone state came rushing on her soul.
She thought of father, husband, wrong, and crime,
Herself, her helpless offspring, and the time
When she for common food might hear him cry,
Nor have wherewith to soothe his agony.
She saw the waters sleeping 'neath her there,
Breathing, and bright; the frenzy of despair
Came o'er her; here was shelter, here was rest
For her and hers; there now remained no breast
To feel her loss, nor would her baby stay,
Like the young bloom that opens on the spray
In March, ere yet a leaf is on the trees
To screen the trembler from the bitter breeze.
Strong was the conflict of that trying hour,
And hard she struggled with the tempter's power;
But God at length controlled the desperate strife
And led her back again to peace and life,
Even as in frantic agony she stood.
Strange contrast, o'er that still and placid flood,
And strained her wondering infant to her breast
And on his lips her last wild kiss impressed,
A light broke in on her, a sudden ray
Of hope and comfort, (how she scarce could say,)
That shewed at once her madness and her sin,
And calmed and settled all the storm within.
She deems herself it was the child she held
Who named the name of God, and with it quelled
Her agonies; who with a random word
Remembered from the task he daily heard
From her own lips his erring mother taught,
And bade her turn for comfort where she ought,
Sending her dark and wandering thoughts away
To Him the Widow's friend and Orphan's stay.
She paused, she trembled, on her teacher looked
With awe and shame, owned God and stood rebuked;
Saw the full horror of her guilty aim,
And home returning in an altered frame
In penitence and prayer a course began,
Which on to lasting peace, and full submission ran.
And she, as oft accustomed now, afraid
And anxious for his safety, took the road
To find and lead him to his lone abode.
She dared not seek the alehouse, and support
Its drunken inmates' coarse and ribbald sport;
But still he must not walk alone where lay
The long canal beside his reeling way.
And here, her little Richard in her hand,
Beneath the silent moon she took her stand
Most desolate, and heard at times from far
Their loud wild laughter, and their brutal jar.
She looked upon her infant, and the whole
Of her lone state came rushing on her soul.
She thought of father, husband, wrong, and crime,
Herself, her helpless offspring, and the time
70
Nor have wherewith to soothe his agony.
She saw the waters sleeping 'neath her there,
Breathing, and bright; the frenzy of despair
Came o'er her; here was shelter, here was rest
For her and hers; there now remained no breast
To feel her loss, nor would her baby stay,
Like the young bloom that opens on the spray
In March, ere yet a leaf is on the trees
To screen the trembler from the bitter breeze.
Strong was the conflict of that trying hour,
And hard she struggled with the tempter's power;
But God at length controlled the desperate strife
And led her back again to peace and life,
Even as in frantic agony she stood.
Strange contrast, o'er that still and placid flood,
71
And on his lips her last wild kiss impressed,
A light broke in on her, a sudden ray
Of hope and comfort, (how she scarce could say,)
That shewed at once her madness and her sin,
And calmed and settled all the storm within.
She deems herself it was the child she held
Who named the name of God, and with it quelled
Her agonies; who with a random word
Remembered from the task he daily heard
From her own lips his erring mother taught,
And bade her turn for comfort where she ought,
Sending her dark and wandering thoughts away
To Him the Widow's friend and Orphan's stay.
She paused, she trembled, on her teacher looked
With awe and shame, owned God and stood rebuked;
72
And home returning in an altered frame
In penitence and prayer a course began,
Which on to lasting peace, and full submission ran.
“Within her home now Jessy sits no more
In lonely desolation as before.
A Friend is hers who leaves not nor forsakes,
A peace the friendless world nor gives nor takes;
God has looked in upon her mental night,
The clouds are passed away, and all is light.
She sees a plan unveiled to earthly eyes,
Finds all her ills but blessings in disguise,
Learns on her God to rest with faith and prayer
And trust her cause to His paternal care;
Content in His appointed path to run,
And meekly say “my Father's will be done.”
In lonely desolation as before.
A Friend is hers who leaves not nor forsakes,
A peace the friendless world nor gives nor takes;
God has looked in upon her mental night,
The clouds are passed away, and all is light.
She sees a plan unveiled to earthly eyes,
Finds all her ills but blessings in disguise,
Learns on her God to rest with faith and prayer
And trust her cause to His paternal care;
Content in His appointed path to run,
And meekly say “my Father's will be done.”
73
“But sickness seized at length the man of drink
And nailed him to his bed, and forced him think.
The long delusion from his spirit passed,
And his true state rushed full on him at last.
Robbed of excuse, and stripped of all disguise,
His guilty self rose up before his eyes;
And crimes and wrongs in fast succession came,
And fanned his inward fever into flame.
He spurned all solace, and refused all aid,
And night and day against himself inveighed:
He called upon his injured wife and child,
And bade them curse him, till his brain ran wild.
They brought him medicines, but he took them not;
The body's pangs were in the mind's forgot;
And every soothing word and act from them
Seemed but anew his baseness to condemn.
In vain his faithful partner o'er him hung,
Love in her looks, and comfort on her tongue;
In vain his infant round him smiled and played,
His angry conscience would not be allayed;
“Curse me,” he cried, “the worst that ye can do
Is all too little for my wrongs on you.”—
A friend of mine beheld him ere he died;
His consort's words and prayers had then supplied
A ray of peace, and taught the poor distrest
To seek his refuge in a Saviour's breast.
There never died a deeper penitent;
And charity may hope the prayers he sent
For mercy to his God, were heard in heaven:
But by himself he never was forgiven;
And his last bitter words and tears in life,
Deplored his conduct to his generous wife.
And nailed him to his bed, and forced him think.
The long delusion from his spirit passed,
And his true state rushed full on him at last.
Robbed of excuse, and stripped of all disguise,
His guilty self rose up before his eyes;
And crimes and wrongs in fast succession came,
And fanned his inward fever into flame.
He spurned all solace, and refused all aid,
And night and day against himself inveighed:
He called upon his injured wife and child,
And bade them curse him, till his brain ran wild.
They brought him medicines, but he took them not;
The body's pangs were in the mind's forgot;
And every soothing word and act from them
Seemed but anew his baseness to condemn.
74
Love in her looks, and comfort on her tongue;
In vain his infant round him smiled and played,
His angry conscience would not be allayed;
“Curse me,” he cried, “the worst that ye can do
Is all too little for my wrongs on you.”—
A friend of mine beheld him ere he died;
His consort's words and prayers had then supplied
A ray of peace, and taught the poor distrest
To seek his refuge in a Saviour's breast.
There never died a deeper penitent;
And charity may hope the prayers he sent
For mercy to his God, were heard in heaven:
But by himself he never was forgiven;
And his last bitter words and tears in life,
Deplored his conduct to his generous wife.
75
“But it is time we seek her cot again
And learn from her own lips what may remain.”
And learn from her own lips what may remain.”
“We rose, and to the cottage bent our way,
And found her there in the same neat array;
Seated and knitting in a window, where
The sun looked warmly on her, and the air
Flung in at times a perfume as it flew.
She heard the sound of our approach, and knew
The steps were friendly, and with pleasant smile
Rose to receive and greet us; in a while
We freely talked together, and my friend
Induced her thus her simple tale to end.
And found her there in the same neat array;
Seated and knitting in a window, where
The sun looked warmly on her, and the air
Flung in at times a perfume as it flew.
She heard the sound of our approach, and knew
The steps were friendly, and with pleasant smile
Rose to receive and greet us; in a while
We freely talked together, and my friend
Induced her thus her simple tale to end.
“It was” she said, “a heavy thing to lose
A friend so dear, so needful, when his views
Were now corrected, and his heart reclaimed,
And his new efforts might have still redeemed
Our sinking cause from ruin. But 'twas not
For me to strive, where God had dealt the lot.
They seized our little stock for debt, and sent
A writ to drive us from our tenement;
And sad and helpless as I was, (for then
The time was near when I must feel again
A mother's pangs and fears) I took the road,
And left with aching heart my loved abode;
And to the parish workhouse turned to share
Their coarse hard lodging and unwilling fare,
And take the common pittance of the place,
Without one soothing word or friendly face.
And here mid want and sorrow, noise and strife,
My second infant struggled into life;
And a wild fever followed close, and cast
A shroud round thought and feeling; present, past,
And future, all were dark for many a day;
And when the strange delusion passed away,
Ah me! I heard my babe for nurture cry,
And found my withered breast could none supply.
It was a trying season, and my cup
Required but one drop more to fill it up;
And this too came, my angry father came
To curse me at my hour of grief and shame;
Yes, sir, my father came to curse me here;—
But ah! he could not do it. God was near
To check and change his purpose; and one look
At me and my affliction staggered, shook,
Subdued him; tears burst forth without control,
And all the father rushed into his soul.
He fell upon my neck and sobbed “my child;”
And my poor heart within me leaped and smiled.
A friend so dear, so needful, when his views
76
And his new efforts might have still redeemed
Our sinking cause from ruin. But 'twas not
For me to strive, where God had dealt the lot.
They seized our little stock for debt, and sent
A writ to drive us from our tenement;
And sad and helpless as I was, (for then
The time was near when I must feel again
A mother's pangs and fears) I took the road,
And left with aching heart my loved abode;
And to the parish workhouse turned to share
Their coarse hard lodging and unwilling fare,
And take the common pittance of the place,
Without one soothing word or friendly face.
And here mid want and sorrow, noise and strife,
My second infant struggled into life;
77
A shroud round thought and feeling; present, past,
And future, all were dark for many a day;
And when the strange delusion passed away,
Ah me! I heard my babe for nurture cry,
And found my withered breast could none supply.
It was a trying season, and my cup
Required but one drop more to fill it up;
And this too came, my angry father came
To curse me at my hour of grief and shame;
Yes, sir, my father came to curse me here;—
But ah! he could not do it. God was near
To check and change his purpose; and one look
At me and my affliction staggered, shook,
Subdued him; tears burst forth without control,
And all the father rushed into his soul.
78
And my poor heart within me leaped and smiled.
“Thus in my anguish God forsook me not,
But in his own good time assistance brought.
My father took me to his home once more,
And life flowed swift and smoothly as of yore,
A quiet by-path of my own I trod,
And read my bible and conversed with God:
And taught my little ones, and saw them rise
Two pleasant plants beneath my widowed eyes.
Peace crowned my nights, and pleasure winged my days,
And half my prayers were gladdened into praise.
But in his own good time assistance brought.
My father took me to his home once more,
And life flowed swift and smoothly as of yore,
A quiet by-path of my own I trod,
And read my bible and conversed with God:
And taught my little ones, and saw them rise
Two pleasant plants beneath my widowed eyes.
Peace crowned my nights, and pleasure winged my days,
And half my prayers were gladdened into praise.
“But bliss like this is not for earthly breast;
And God was kinder than to let me rest,
In any object short of Him and heaven;
And when at length a darker lot was given,
Though flesh and blood recoiled, the spirit stood
Strong in her sense that He was wise and good.
I knew myself an heir of sin and pride,
And felt it useful for me to be tried;
What He ordained 'twas not for me to shun,
Nor say my will, and not my God's, be done.
My father now was dead, and all he had
Devolved on us; and soon my eldest lad
Bright as the morn and active as the wind
Took charge of all his grandsire left behind;
Worked, marketed, farmed, bargained, sold and bought,
And joy and increase to our dwelling brought.
'Twas balm indeed to a fond mother's heart
To see her child so nobly play his part;
And blind with joy, and drunk with empty pride,
I saw no foes nor dangers at his side;
I feared no snares to one so young as he,
Even in such dealings, scenes, and company.
My frank, my generous, my manly son!
Why should I tell you how he was undone?
Why call the steps by which he fell to view
And bid each wound within me bleed anew?
I saw my error, and his change too late,
But had no power to save him from his fate:
He rushed on blindly in his father's way,
And prayers and efforts were in vain to stay.—
The soldiers of a passing regiment
At last seduced him, and before he went
He came to ask my blessing.—Here I took
My last embrace, my last foreboding look
Of my poor boy; and gave with many a prayer
A little favorite bible to his care,
And bade him keep and read it for my sake,
The last best gift a mother's love could make.—
Then, Sir, I gave him up to God; and forth
He went, to bless my eyes no more on earth.
And God was kinder than to let me rest,
79
And when at length a darker lot was given,
Though flesh and blood recoiled, the spirit stood
Strong in her sense that He was wise and good.
I knew myself an heir of sin and pride,
And felt it useful for me to be tried;
What He ordained 'twas not for me to shun,
Nor say my will, and not my God's, be done.
My father now was dead, and all he had
Devolved on us; and soon my eldest lad
Bright as the morn and active as the wind
Took charge of all his grandsire left behind;
Worked, marketed, farmed, bargained, sold and bought,
And joy and increase to our dwelling brought.
'Twas balm indeed to a fond mother's heart
To see her child so nobly play his part;
80
I saw no foes nor dangers at his side;
I feared no snares to one so young as he,
Even in such dealings, scenes, and company.
My frank, my generous, my manly son!
Why should I tell you how he was undone?
Why call the steps by which he fell to view
And bid each wound within me bleed anew?
I saw my error, and his change too late,
But had no power to save him from his fate:
He rushed on blindly in his father's way,
And prayers and efforts were in vain to stay.—
The soldiers of a passing regiment
At last seduced him, and before he went
He came to ask my blessing.—Here I took
My last embrace, my last foreboding look
81
A little favorite bible to his care,
And bade him keep and read it for my sake,
The last best gift a mother's love could make.—
Then, Sir, I gave him up to God; and forth
He went, to bless my eyes no more on earth.
“Excuse these tears; they give my heart relief;
And God forbids not unrepining grief.
The very Saviour wept when He was here;
And nature claims the comfort of a tear.
I would not strive against my Father's will
Nor reckon aught that comes from Him an ill;
But ah! I felt, I feel the chastening rod!
And it smote hard though in the hand of God.
Five years went by, nor heard I of his fate.—
At last, one night, a man came to my gate,
A war-worn veteran, but of aspect mild,
Who brought, he told me, tidings of my child.
And God forbids not unrepining grief.
The very Saviour wept when He was here;
And nature claims the comfort of a tear.
I would not strive against my Father's will
Nor reckon aught that comes from Him an ill;
But ah! I felt, I feel the chastening rod!
And it smote hard though in the hand of God.
Five years went by, nor heard I of his fate.—
At last, one night, a man came to my gate,
82
Who brought, he told me, tidings of my child.
“Sir, I must weep, my feelings must have vent.—
This man had marched, had slept in the same tent,
With my boy Richard. He had been his friend
And shared his toils and dangers to the end.
He was a christian and a man of prayer,
Who loved his God, and served him every where.
My wanderer's follies he had seen with pain,
And warned him from them kindly, but in vain;
Yet joined he not the common laugh and jeer,
Nor mocked the precepts he refused to hear.
Thus things continued, 'till the corps was sent
On foreign service on the Continent;
And there mid exile, danger and distress,
A graver mood on Richard 'gan to press;
His eyes were opened to the path he trod
And his heart yearned to find a friend in God.
He sought his pious comrade's company,
And read his bible much, and spoke of me;
O sir! that bible my own hands had given,
And sure my prayers brought down that grace from heaven.
At length in deadly strife they met their foes,
And my poor boy was missing at the close;
And when they found him he was cold and dead,
And by his side his little bible spread.—
The old man kept and brought the book to me,
And O my soul within me thrilled to see
My child's own life-blood still the pages stain,
A mournful pledge that we should meet again.
This man had marched, had slept in the same tent,
With my boy Richard. He had been his friend
And shared his toils and dangers to the end.
He was a christian and a man of prayer,
Who loved his God, and served him every where.
My wanderer's follies he had seen with pain,
And warned him from them kindly, but in vain;
Yet joined he not the common laugh and jeer,
Nor mocked the precepts he refused to hear.
Thus things continued, 'till the corps was sent
On foreign service on the Continent;
And there mid exile, danger and distress,
A graver mood on Richard 'gan to press;
83
And his heart yearned to find a friend in God.
He sought his pious comrade's company,
And read his bible much, and spoke of me;
O sir! that bible my own hands had given,
And sure my prayers brought down that grace from heaven.
At length in deadly strife they met their foes,
And my poor boy was missing at the close;
And when they found him he was cold and dead,
And by his side his little bible spread.—
The old man kept and brought the book to me,
And O my soul within me thrilled to see
My child's own life-blood still the pages stain,
A mournful pledge that we should meet again.
84
“Well, sir, I wept; but they were blessed drops,
And bright with high remembrances and hopes:
I looked too on the youth that still was left,
And felt with him I was not quite bereft.
For he was mild and docile, kind and good,
The light and comfort of my solitude.
He loved his home, and o'er a favorite book,
Would spend whole evenings in our chimney nook.
Our little garden 'neath his culture throve,
And the moss-rose and woodbine learned to rove
Upon our cottage wall; my joys and fears,
My prayers, my occupations, smiles and tears
He shared with daily love, and sense beyond his years.
But now it pleased my God again to lay
His hand on me, and take my sight away;
And anxious for the welfare of my son,
Whom my fond eyes no more could look upon,
I forced my heart to give him up, and bade
A kind relation teach my boy his trade.
He wept to leave me; but I hid my pain,
And talked of joy when we should meet again.—
And we did meet,—but not with joy;—a year
Was scarce elapsed ere tidings smote my ear
That George was sick, and that his native air
Was recommended for him. To my care
They sent him. O! sir, what I felt to trace
His hollow voice, his wasted form and face!
How have I sat beside his bed, and staid
His burning brow, and watched, and wept, and prayed,
And talked of hope, when there was hope no more;
And whispered comfort, while my heart ran o'er
With desolation. But his spirit rose
Above this little world of crimes and woes,
And asked no earthly comfort. Many days
Before he died he dwelt within the rays
Of Heaven; he saw his Saviour face to face,
And stood with angels at the throne of grace;
And spoke such blessed words to all around,
Grief stood rebuked, and love in awe was drowned.
Bright as the closing of a summer's day,
Soft as a sabbath hymn he passed away.
The soul, they said, departing to its place,
Left a still marble smile upon his face,
A sweet assurance of the bliss he gained,
A pledge of peace to those that yet remained.
And bright with high remembrances and hopes:
I looked too on the youth that still was left,
And felt with him I was not quite bereft.
For he was mild and docile, kind and good,
The light and comfort of my solitude.
He loved his home, and o'er a favorite book,
Would spend whole evenings in our chimney nook.
Our little garden 'neath his culture throve,
And the moss-rose and woodbine learned to rove
Upon our cottage wall; my joys and fears,
My prayers, my occupations, smiles and tears
He shared with daily love, and sense beyond his years.
But now it pleased my God again to lay
His hand on me, and take my sight away;
85
Whom my fond eyes no more could look upon,
I forced my heart to give him up, and bade
A kind relation teach my boy his trade.
He wept to leave me; but I hid my pain,
And talked of joy when we should meet again.—
And we did meet,—but not with joy;—a year
Was scarce elapsed ere tidings smote my ear
That George was sick, and that his native air
Was recommended for him. To my care
They sent him. O! sir, what I felt to trace
His hollow voice, his wasted form and face!
How have I sat beside his bed, and staid
His burning brow, and watched, and wept, and prayed,
And talked of hope, when there was hope no more;
And whispered comfort, while my heart ran o'er
86
Above this little world of crimes and woes,
And asked no earthly comfort. Many days
Before he died he dwelt within the rays
Of Heaven; he saw his Saviour face to face,
And stood with angels at the throne of grace;
And spoke such blessed words to all around,
Grief stood rebuked, and love in awe was drowned.
Bright as the closing of a summer's day,
Soft as a sabbath hymn he passed away.
The soul, they said, departing to its place,
Left a still marble smile upon his face,
A sweet assurance of the bliss he gained,
A pledge of peace to those that yet remained.
“Here, sir, my story closes. I was left
A poor lone thing, of all, save God, bereft.
I now had nought to do but weep and pray,
And kiss the hand that gave and took away.
I know Him good and wise, and scarce would dare
To wish that things were other than they are.
All that I loved are gathered safe above,
Better and happier far than earthly love,
However warm, could wish them. There they live
In all the bliss the Father's self can give,
Or the Redeemer earn; and I shall there
Meet them again, bright, blooming as they were,
To praise the God we served together here,
And dry in glory's rays each earthly tear.
My eyes behold no more this world of sin,
But brighter worlds light up my eyes within.
And here in my lone cot I sit, and try
My soul to keep, my God to glorify,
Take what he gives with thankfulness of heart,
And feel His mercies more than my desert,
And calmly wait His own good time, to say
“Come to thy rest, poor pilgrim, come away.”
A poor lone thing, of all, save God, bereft.
87
And kiss the hand that gave and took away.
I know Him good and wise, and scarce would dare
To wish that things were other than they are.
All that I loved are gathered safe above,
Better and happier far than earthly love,
However warm, could wish them. There they live
In all the bliss the Father's self can give,
Or the Redeemer earn; and I shall there
Meet them again, bright, blooming as they were,
To praise the God we served together here,
And dry in glory's rays each earthly tear.
My eyes behold no more this world of sin,
But brighter worlds light up my eyes within.
And here in my lone cot I sit, and try
My soul to keep, my God to glorify,
88
And feel His mercies more than my desert,
And calmly wait His own good time, to say
“Come to thy rest, poor pilgrim, come away.”
89
TALE FOURTH. EDWARD FIELD.
“GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.”
91
UPON a rise near Sydney Grange is seen
A small neat house with lawn of velvet green;
A shrubbery skirts and screens it from the wind,
And a snug garden wooes the sun behind.
Here with his wife and rosy children twain,
A man and maid, and chattels few and plain,
Some years ago from distant town or shire
Came Mister Field, or Edward Field Esquire,
The neighbouring village gossips o'er their tea
Have not yet settled his precise degree.
Farmer he was not; stock nor land he kept,
A few small fields around his house except;
Nor yet like neighbouring squires he entertained,
Nor drank, nor swore, nor dogs nor hunters trained,
But still he was the parson's friend and guest,
And all the poor around his bounty could attest.
A small neat house with lawn of velvet green;
A shrubbery skirts and screens it from the wind,
And a snug garden wooes the sun behind.
Here with his wife and rosy children twain,
A man and maid, and chattels few and plain,
Some years ago from distant town or shire
Came Mister Field, or Edward Field Esquire,
The neighbouring village gossips o'er their tea
Have not yet settled his precise degree.
92
A few small fields around his house except;
Nor yet like neighbouring squires he entertained,
Nor drank, nor swore, nor dogs nor hunters trained,
But still he was the parson's friend and guest,
And all the poor around his bounty could attest.
Well! Squire or Mister Field, (just call him which
You please) inhabited this quiet niche;
Milked his three cows, and made his bread and beer
On just four hundred annual pounds in clear.
Sleek were his kine. His yard was peopled thick
With turkey, guinea-fowl, and hen and chick,
All of choice kinds; and o'er his lawn there went
Six sheep, kept less for use than ornament.
O'er a neat paddock gate all free and tame,
Neighed his one horse in answer to his name.
I pass swine, ducks, and things of like degree,
He kept them out of sight, and so shall we.
You please) inhabited this quiet niche;
Milked his three cows, and made his bread and beer
On just four hundred annual pounds in clear.
Sleek were his kine. His yard was peopled thick
With turkey, guinea-fowl, and hen and chick,
All of choice kinds; and o'er his lawn there went
Six sheep, kept less for use than ornament.
O'er a neat paddock gate all free and tame,
Neighed his one horse in answer to his name.
93
He kept them out of sight, and so shall we.
His wife, good Mrs. Field, Heaven bless her face!
Was one might well adorn a higher place;
Accomplished, mannered, lady-like and fair,
Though not quite all that some fine ladies are.
She read few novels, seldom screamed, or fainted,
Dangled no reticule, was flounced nor painted;
And thought her hands were made for something more
Than nursing up in kid, or running o'er
Piano keys. She could both mend and make,
Wash and get up small linen, boil and bake;
And her made-wines, her puddings, and preserves,—
What tongue can speak of them as each deserves?
Her dress was simple; but you might suppose
The Graces helped her to put on her clothes.
Her house too perfect neatness; yet not such
As makes one half afraid to step or touch;
And all things there appeared to go or stand
Rather by secret clock-work than command;
Then in the healing art how vast her skill!
How deep her lore in herb and salve and pill!
Buchan and Reece right well she understood,
And even in Thomas dipped, and Underwood.
The ailing poor for miles around confessed
The sovereign virtues of her medicine chest;
And lean the village doctor grew, and bare,
Since Mrs. Field began to practise there.
Was one might well adorn a higher place;
Accomplished, mannered, lady-like and fair,
Though not quite all that some fine ladies are.
She read few novels, seldom screamed, or fainted,
Dangled no reticule, was flounced nor painted;
And thought her hands were made for something more
Than nursing up in kid, or running o'er
Piano keys. She could both mend and make,
Wash and get up small linen, boil and bake;
And her made-wines, her puddings, and preserves,—
What tongue can speak of them as each deserves?
Her dress was simple; but you might suppose
The Graces helped her to put on her clothes.
94
As makes one half afraid to step or touch;
And all things there appeared to go or stand
Rather by secret clock-work than command;
Then in the healing art how vast her skill!
How deep her lore in herb and salve and pill!
Buchan and Reece right well she understood,
And even in Thomas dipped, and Underwood.
The ailing poor for miles around confessed
The sovereign virtues of her medicine chest;
And lean the village doctor grew, and bare,
Since Mrs. Field began to practise there.
Her husband had his avocations too:
He kept, I've said, a garden, where he grew
The earliest peas in all the country round,
And fruit for size and flavour far renowned.
Here were his bees in hives of curious form,
And there his greenhouse, to keep off the storm
From favorite flowers of every scent and hue,
Tended by him, and ranged in order due.
To bud and graft he was supremely skilled;
And aye a pruning knife his pocket filled.
He kept, I've said, a garden, where he grew
The earliest peas in all the country round,
And fruit for size and flavour far renowned.
95
And there his greenhouse, to keep off the storm
From favorite flowers of every scent and hue,
Tended by him, and ranged in order due.
To bud and graft he was supremely skilled;
And aye a pruning knife his pocket filled.
His other tasks were various. On his land
He commonly employed a labouring hand.
His poultry likewise 'twas his due delight
Himself to serve with barley morn and night.
He taught his boy and girl; and taught them so
That will and duty hand in hand might go.
For he had still for them a smile in store,
A playful word, or tale of pleasing lore:
A happy knack, that tired not while it taught,
And rarely failed to gain the end he sought.
He commonly employed a labouring hand.
His poultry likewise 'twas his due delight
Himself to serve with barley morn and night.
He taught his boy and girl; and taught them so
That will and duty hand in hand might go.
For he had still for them a smile in store,
A playful word, or tale of pleasing lore:
A happy knack, that tired not while it taught,
And rarely failed to gain the end he sought.
96
A school then in the village he maintained,
Where boys to write, and girls to sew were trained;
And where on sunday all the neighbouring young
Hymns, catechisms and collects said or sung.
The poor there claimed his frequent inquest too,
For truest suffering oft is least in view;
And not content to notice, and redress
The loud, bold plaint of petulant distress,
He loved affliction to its home to trace
And by inspection learn its real case;
See who might dress or baby-clothes require,
Or Madam's Thursday soup, or wine, or fire.
He was not one whose charity found vent
In very fine but empty sentiment;
None of the simpering, soft poetic crew,
Who talk, and feel, and weep, but never do.
Where'er were wants to succour, woes to share,
There was his haunt, though none might see him there.
He loved to seat him in the poor man's cot,
And hear the annals of his humble lot,
Joy round the widow's lonely heart to shed,
And weep and pray beside the sick straw bed.
And ‘what sweet tears they were, pure, bright, as flow
‘From angel eyes o'er earthly sin and woe!
‘What luxury of sorrow,’ (he would say),
‘And how unskilled in true enjoyment they
‘Who ne'er the full uplifted eyes have viewed,
‘Nor drank the wild warm voice of gratitude;
‘Seen the poor children's smile their steps attend
‘And the dog bark not at his master's friend,
‘And all the simple joys that God hath given,
‘To light the steps of charity to Heaven!’
Where boys to write, and girls to sew were trained;
And where on sunday all the neighbouring young
Hymns, catechisms and collects said or sung.
The poor there claimed his frequent inquest too,
For truest suffering oft is least in view;
And not content to notice, and redress
The loud, bold plaint of petulant distress,
He loved affliction to its home to trace
And by inspection learn its real case;
See who might dress or baby-clothes require,
Or Madam's Thursday soup, or wine, or fire.
He was not one whose charity found vent
In very fine but empty sentiment;
None of the simpering, soft poetic crew,
Who talk, and feel, and weep, but never do.
97
There was his haunt, though none might see him there.
He loved to seat him in the poor man's cot,
And hear the annals of his humble lot,
Joy round the widow's lonely heart to shed,
And weep and pray beside the sick straw bed.
And ‘what sweet tears they were, pure, bright, as flow
‘From angel eyes o'er earthly sin and woe!
‘What luxury of sorrow,’ (he would say),
‘And how unskilled in true enjoyment they
‘Who ne'er the full uplifted eyes have viewed,
‘Nor drank the wild warm voice of gratitude;
‘Seen the poor children's smile their steps attend
‘And the dog bark not at his master's friend,
‘And all the simple joys that God hath given,
‘To light the steps of charity to Heaven!’
98
Then there were other lighter rambles, when
He and his boy went up the neighbouring glen,
Old Walton for their guide, and from the brook
Wiled the lithe trout, but not with baited hook.
Or all together in a one-horse chair
They went at times to breathe the fresh sea air,
In summer, picking shells along the sand,
Or watching while the ocean o'er the strand
His lordly crest smoothed down, his thunders mute
Crept like a tame thing up to lick their foot.
Or when at eve along the fields they strayed,
Just when the cattle ventured from the shade;
When the tall grove upon the neighbouring rise,
Stood in relief before the Western skies;
And pleasant murmurs on the ear would come
Of lowing kine, and rooks returning home;
And every breeze brought in some varied sweet;
And grass more soft than sleep wooed on their feet:
Till dancing insects humming round their way,
And the wild thrush's lessening roundelay,
And stars faint twinkling through the twilight blue
Warned them in home from darkness and the dew.
He and his boy went up the neighbouring glen,
Old Walton for their guide, and from the brook
Wiled the lithe trout, but not with baited hook.
Or all together in a one-horse chair
They went at times to breathe the fresh sea air,
In summer, picking shells along the sand,
Or watching while the ocean o'er the strand
His lordly crest smoothed down, his thunders mute
Crept like a tame thing up to lick their foot.
Or when at eve along the fields they strayed,
Just when the cattle ventured from the shade;
When the tall grove upon the neighbouring rise,
Stood in relief before the Western skies;
And pleasant murmurs on the ear would come
Of lowing kine, and rooks returning home;
99
And grass more soft than sleep wooed on their feet:
Till dancing insects humming round their way,
And the wild thrush's lessening roundelay,
And stars faint twinkling through the twilight blue
Warned them in home from darkness and the dew.
On other evenings, when rough weather brings
Us friends with fires, rugs, shutters, and such things;
And when the Vicar, or some neighbour friend
Dropped not in on them to take tea, and spend
An hour in chat; nor when the county news
Came once a week, nor monthly the Reviews:—
The children then would either draw or write,
Or cut out forms in paper blue and white,
Or sing together at their mother's side;
Or while the female part their needles plied,
The others read aloud; perchance with Cook
From isle to isle their way through Ocean took;
Or else with Bruce or Park the desart thrid,
Or learned what other ages felt and did:
And traced the lore of England, Greece, and Rome,
With safer guides than Gibbon or than Hume.
Thus bed-time stole upon them unawares;
And the night closed, as morning oped, with prayers.
Us friends with fires, rugs, shutters, and such things;
And when the Vicar, or some neighbour friend
Dropped not in on them to take tea, and spend
An hour in chat; nor when the county news
Came once a week, nor monthly the Reviews:—
The children then would either draw or write,
Or cut out forms in paper blue and white,
Or sing together at their mother's side;
Or while the female part their needles plied,
100
From isle to isle their way through Ocean took;
Or else with Bruce or Park the desart thrid,
Or learned what other ages felt and did:
And traced the lore of England, Greece, and Rome,
With safer guides than Gibbon or than Hume.
Thus bed-time stole upon them unawares;
And the night closed, as morning oped, with prayers.
Such was the dwelling, such the simple life
Of Edward Field, his children, and his wife.
Here from the world, its toils, and snares, he fled
To serve his God, and eat his daily bread.
Retired, but active; useful, though forgot;
The world owed much to him that owned him not.
His aim was not men's notice, but their good,
To have his actions felt, enjoyed, not viewed.
And like the tree that bows its head the lower
The heavier it is hung with fruitful store,
He lived humility;—unlike to those
Who wear it in their manners, looks and clothes,
Who tell their frailties, spread their sins abroad
To man who disbelieves them, not to God;
Then triumph in their hypocritic sham,—
“How humble must the world suppose I am!”
His heart was humble, for he knew its state:
He had no claims to guard and vindicate;
Made no pretensions, took offence at none,
And notice oft but for endurance won;
As in the grass the wild thyme we discover,
Smelling most fragrant when most trampled over.
The judgement of the vulgar, small, or great,
In praise or blame with him had little weight.
He chose his path in life, and walked right on,
And yet, if possible, offended none.
Ambitious of no martyr's lot and name
From gibbets, racks, and fires of worldly fame:
Nor swift to take the lists, and hew and hack
In controversial parry and attack,
Where seldom aught is gained, though much is spent
Of temper, time, and breath, and argument.
His object Heaven, and God his Judge alone,
Busy, yet quiet, moved the Christian on.
Like home-bound vessel through life's voyage hied,
Leaving no track along the closing tide:
Took what of joy he might with safety there,
And for his perfect bliss looked on elsewhere.
Of Edward Field, his children, and his wife.
Here from the world, its toils, and snares, he fled
To serve his God, and eat his daily bread.
Retired, but active; useful, though forgot;
The world owed much to him that owned him not.
His aim was not men's notice, but their good,
To have his actions felt, enjoyed, not viewed.
101
The heavier it is hung with fruitful store,
He lived humility;—unlike to those
Who wear it in their manners, looks and clothes,
Who tell their frailties, spread their sins abroad
To man who disbelieves them, not to God;
Then triumph in their hypocritic sham,—
“How humble must the world suppose I am!”
His heart was humble, for he knew its state:
He had no claims to guard and vindicate;
Made no pretensions, took offence at none,
And notice oft but for endurance won;
As in the grass the wild thyme we discover,
Smelling most fragrant when most trampled over.
The judgement of the vulgar, small, or great,
In praise or blame with him had little weight.
102
And yet, if possible, offended none.
Ambitious of no martyr's lot and name
From gibbets, racks, and fires of worldly fame:
Nor swift to take the lists, and hew and hack
In controversial parry and attack,
Where seldom aught is gained, though much is spent
Of temper, time, and breath, and argument.
His object Heaven, and God his Judge alone,
Busy, yet quiet, moved the Christian on.
Like home-bound vessel through life's voyage hied,
Leaving no track along the closing tide:
Took what of joy he might with safety there,
And for his perfect bliss looked on elsewhere.
Who now would think this simple plain good man
Had once been joined to fashion's lightest clan?
Had chased Ambition's wildest meteor down
And shared the idlest follies of the Town?
Yet such had Edward Field. The earliest air
He breathed was in a smoky London Square;
Where in a dingy brick and mortar pile
His high-born parents lived in handsome style,
Kept their state coach, with many a liveried knave,
And large sad parties once a fortnight gave;
Using a world of pother and address
To make themselves and others comfortless.
Had once been joined to fashion's lightest clan?
103
And shared the idlest follies of the Town?
Yet such had Edward Field. The earliest air
He breathed was in a smoky London Square;
Where in a dingy brick and mortar pile
His high-born parents lived in handsome style,
Kept their state coach, with many a liveried knave,
And large sad parties once a fortnight gave;
Using a world of pother and address
To make themselves and others comfortless.
To Eton, thence to Oxford, was he whirled,
To make acquaintance there, and see the world.
And then pro formâ to the Continent
The graduate dunce was with his tutor sent,
To just learn how to dress, and cook, and stare,
And say of places, “O! yes! I've been there!”
To make acquaintance there, and see the world.
And then pro formâ to the Continent
The graduate dunce was with his tutor sent,
To just learn how to dress, and cook, and stare,
And say of places, “O! yes! I've been there!”
104
Thence must he pass through fashion's usual paces,
Learn the right manners, jargon, and grimaces,
Acquire the one sublime indifference
To all that smacks of feeling, thought, or sense.
In friendless intimacy day by day
With grinning things must languish life away:
Must go to bed at four and rise at two,
Then ride out in the park as others do;
Or lounge at five in Bond Street, with a score
Of just such stiff, starched, stayed poor creatures more.
To dinner then at eight, and thence away
To formal rout, the club-house, or the play,
For which till the fifth act he never starts,
And talks aloud through all the finest parts.
Learn the right manners, jargon, and grimaces,
Acquire the one sublime indifference
To all that smacks of feeling, thought, or sense.
In friendless intimacy day by day
With grinning things must languish life away:
Must go to bed at four and rise at two,
Then ride out in the park as others do;
Or lounge at five in Bond Street, with a score
Of just such stiff, starched, stayed poor creatures more.
To dinner then at eight, and thence away
To formal rout, the club-house, or the play,
For which till the fifth act he never starts,
And talks aloud through all the finest parts.
From thence in time his genius onward passed,
And left this wooden life behind at last.
But who, all inexpert may think to trace
Each new gradation of his hopeful race?
Now in his tandem, now in ring or pit,
A gudgeon here, and there a blood and wit,
He did in fact what others like him do,
And found in all as much enjoyment too.
And left this wooden life behind at last.
105
Each new gradation of his hopeful race?
Now in his tandem, now in ring or pit,
A gudgeon here, and there a blood and wit,
He did in fact what others like him do,
And found in all as much enjoyment too.
Meanwhile his parents their own path pursued
And with complacency his progress viewed;
Saw their three hundred friends each fortnight still
And took their share of scandal and quadrille;
Still smiled and simpered with the same dull set,
Kept up appearances, and ran in debt.
Yet while so smooth and fair in public eyes
They doffed at home the cumbersome disguise;
And fretful words were heard, and frowns were seen,
And angry squabbles with short truce between.
At last one night at cards Miss Farley said
“You've heard the news, that Mrs. Field is dead.”
“Good Heavens! poor Mrs. Field!” another cried,
“Diamonds are trumps,—do tell us how she died.”
And with complacency his progress viewed;
Saw their three hundred friends each fortnight still
And took their share of scandal and quadrille;
Still smiled and simpered with the same dull set,
Kept up appearances, and ran in debt.
Yet while so smooth and fair in public eyes
They doffed at home the cumbersome disguise;
And fretful words were heard, and frowns were seen,
And angry squabbles with short truce between.
106
“You've heard the news, that Mrs. Field is dead.”
“Good Heavens! poor Mrs. Field!” another cried,
“Diamonds are trumps,—do tell us how she died.”
The hatchment now was hung up o'er the door,
The family their decent mourning wore;
The spouse went through the usual routine,
And for due time in public was not seen:
And, to speak truth, in spite of every cross,
And every pet and humour, felt his loss.
He had no longer one to scold and flout,
To order dinner, and to nurse his gout.
The servants too had all things their own way
And bills besieged him which he could not pay.
Beset with all these complicated ills,
Vexation, ennui, pilferers, duns and bills;
He saw no better speedier antidote
And so one morning coolly cut his throat.
His property was so secured, no dun
Could claim, he knew, a farthing from his son;
And on his table this advice was found,
“Pay them my boy, a penny in the pound.”
The family their decent mourning wore;
The spouse went through the usual routine,
And for due time in public was not seen:
And, to speak truth, in spite of every cross,
And every pet and humour, felt his loss.
He had no longer one to scold and flout,
To order dinner, and to nurse his gout.
The servants too had all things their own way
And bills besieged him which he could not pay.
Beset with all these complicated ills,
Vexation, ennui, pilferers, duns and bills;
107
And so one morning coolly cut his throat.
His property was so secured, no dun
Could claim, he knew, a farthing from his son;
And on his table this advice was found,
“Pay them my boy, a penny in the pound.”
Edward was shocked, astonished; and decreed
To make no profit of this fearful deed.
A generous spirit that too long had slept
Awoke within him, scorning to accept
At the red purchase of a parent's blood,
And tradesmen's ruin, such ill-gotten good,
And with a nobleness foreseen by few
He sold up all, and gave to each his due.
To make no profit of this fearful deed.
A generous spirit that too long had slept
Awoke within him, scorning to accept
At the red purchase of a parent's blood,
And tradesmen's ruin, such ill-gotten good,
And with a nobleness foreseen by few
He sold up all, and gave to each his due.
108
A monied man of fashion now no more
A different path must Edward Field explore;
And though it was some pain at first to meet
His old friends tittering by him in the street;
And though his pride some passing shocks received,
His mind upon the whole felt lightened and relieved.
He took to letters, and began to mix
With graver men, and talk of politics,
With authors and new books became acquainted
And Mister Murray's drawing room frequented;
Wrote articles for magazine Reviews,
And was in high request among the blues;
Kept common-place book, talked in learned strain,
And praised his rivals to be praised again.
As mangy horses in the fields we see
Scratching each other where they scratched would be.
A different path must Edward Field explore;
And though it was some pain at first to meet
His old friends tittering by him in the street;
And though his pride some passing shocks received,
His mind upon the whole felt lightened and relieved.
He took to letters, and began to mix
With graver men, and talk of politics,
With authors and new books became acquainted
And Mister Murray's drawing room frequented;
Wrote articles for magazine Reviews,
And was in high request among the blues;
Kept common-place book, talked in learned strain,
And praised his rivals to be praised again.
As mangy horses in the fields we see
Scratching each other where they scratched would be.
109
Fired with his progress he new courage took,
And set him down at last to write a book;
A pamphlet by Ignotus. O what paper,
What pens and ink were spent upon the labour!
What brows were knitted, and what nails were bitten,
Before this mighty work was planned and written!
And lo, in cover blue it now appears,
To set the wondering public by the ears,
To fill the world with envy and delight,
And make the critics bark that cannot bite.
What questions will be asked! what tart replies,
And brisk rejoinders from all sides will rise!
But weeks, now fortnights, now whole months go by,
And no critique, rejoinder, or reply;
The world alas! jogs on the very same,
And neither readers buy, nor rivals blame!
At last a friend in some obscure Review
Gave it a fillip; but it would not do.
Puffs and advertisements in vain are penned,
Copies in vain sent round to foe and friend;
And the whole matter ere six months were shotten
Was born, and dead, and buried, and forgotten.
And set him down at last to write a book;
A pamphlet by Ignotus. O what paper,
What pens and ink were spent upon the labour!
What brows were knitted, and what nails were bitten,
Before this mighty work was planned and written!
And lo, in cover blue it now appears,
To set the wondering public by the ears,
To fill the world with envy and delight,
And make the critics bark that cannot bite.
What questions will be asked! what tart replies,
And brisk rejoinders from all sides will rise!
But weeks, now fortnights, now whole months go by,
And no critique, rejoinder, or reply;
The world alas! jogs on the very same,
And neither readers buy, nor rivals blame!
110
Gave it a fillip; but it would not do.
Puffs and advertisements in vain are penned,
Copies in vain sent round to foe and friend;
And the whole matter ere six months were shotten
Was born, and dead, and buried, and forgotten.
So much for authorship. His next design
For wealth and fame was in another line.
Lord Littleworth, prime minister of state,
Had been his father's friend and intimate;
And many handsome offers once had made
If he would bring his son up to the trade.
He met poor Edward's application now
With many a flattering smile, and courtly bow,
And bade him dance attendance with a bevy
Of would-be placemen at his Lordship's levee.
Long were to tell his harassments and trials,
Mid marble looks, smooth lies, and kind denials.
Long were to tell his various dirty jobs
In public and in private; and the throbs
Of wounded honour rankling in his breast,
And scorn and wrath that dared not be expressed,
And hopes and fears so tempered as to keep
The heart half-drowned, half floating in the deep.
Suffice to say a year or two went by,
And still promotion failed, and still was nigh:
When an event occurred to calm his fever,
And burst his bonds, and set him free for ever.
For wealth and fame was in another line.
Lord Littleworth, prime minister of state,
Had been his father's friend and intimate;
And many handsome offers once had made
If he would bring his son up to the trade.
He met poor Edward's application now
With many a flattering smile, and courtly bow,
And bade him dance attendance with a bevy
Of would-be placemen at his Lordship's levee.
111
Mid marble looks, smooth lies, and kind denials.
Long were to tell his various dirty jobs
In public and in private; and the throbs
Of wounded honour rankling in his breast,
And scorn and wrath that dared not be expressed,
And hopes and fears so tempered as to keep
The heart half-drowned, half floating in the deep.
Suffice to say a year or two went by,
And still promotion failed, and still was nigh:
When an event occurred to calm his fever,
And burst his bonds, and set him free for ever.
It chanced that Edward, when at Oxford, had
Among his college friends a lively lad,
Who afterwards assumed the sacred gown,
And held a living three-score miles from Town;
And when his friend he happened there to meet
He often asked him down to his retreat;
And Edward now was in a mood and station,
To take advantage of the invitation.
He found the Rector living on the skirt
Of a neat village, safe from noise and dirt,
With sister, wife, and rosy children seven,
Enjoying earth, and looking on to heaven;
In a fair house with pleasant glebe embraced,
Where grace and comfort well were matched by taste.
There Duty walked; there decent Order dwelt:
There Quiet nestled, and Religion knelt.
There might the needy for assistance turn,
And there the erring ever look and learn.
Amid his books, his children, and the poor
Loving and loved, the good man dwelt secure;
A sun within his little system shone,
Still bright, and brightening all he looked upon.
Mild on his face good nature seemed to sleep,
Forth at each call in smiles to wake and leap:
And kindness, cheerfulness, and strong good sense
To higher graces added influence.
Among his college friends a lively lad,
Who afterwards assumed the sacred gown,
And held a living three-score miles from Town;
112
He often asked him down to his retreat;
And Edward now was in a mood and station,
To take advantage of the invitation.
He found the Rector living on the skirt
Of a neat village, safe from noise and dirt,
With sister, wife, and rosy children seven,
Enjoying earth, and looking on to heaven;
In a fair house with pleasant glebe embraced,
Where grace and comfort well were matched by taste.
There Duty walked; there decent Order dwelt:
There Quiet nestled, and Religion knelt.
There might the needy for assistance turn,
And there the erring ever look and learn.
Amid his books, his children, and the poor
Loving and loved, the good man dwelt secure;
113
Still bright, and brightening all he looked upon.
Mild on his face good nature seemed to sleep,
Forth at each call in smiles to wake and leap:
And kindness, cheerfulness, and strong good sense
To higher graces added influence.
With him now Edward sat, and chatted o'er
Their various boyish feats and whims of yore;
Talked of the scenes and facts of other years,
And what was come of these and those compeers.
With him around the village Edward strolled
To see and minister to sick and old,
And learn their simple histories, and gain
Truths that are rarely heard in prouder fane.
Oft with the ladies too abroad he walked
Along the pleasant fields, and sweetly talked
Unheeding, till the evening round them fell
And roosting blackbirds twitted tbrough the dell:
Or else with music or with books at home
Taught bed-time all unconsciously to come.
And then the little farm and garden too
Were rife with occupation sweet as new,
The children also twined them round his heart
As in their plays and tasks he bore a part;
Nay even the very family devotions,
So ill according with his former notions,
Grew grateful in the end; and when he knelt
On Sabbath in the decent Church, he felt
An awe and interest all unknown before,
A new reality religion wore;
And as the man of God its truths proclaimed,
Rebuked, alarmed, exhorted, urged, and shamed,
His altering mood bore witness to the word,
And listening conscience echoed all she heard.
Their various boyish feats and whims of yore;
Talked of the scenes and facts of other years,
And what was come of these and those compeers.
With him around the village Edward strolled
To see and minister to sick and old,
And learn their simple histories, and gain
Truths that are rarely heard in prouder fane.
Oft with the ladies too abroad he walked
Along the pleasant fields, and sweetly talked
114
And roosting blackbirds twitted tbrough the dell:
Or else with music or with books at home
Taught bed-time all unconsciously to come.
And then the little farm and garden too
Were rife with occupation sweet as new,
The children also twined them round his heart
As in their plays and tasks he bore a part;
Nay even the very family devotions,
So ill according with his former notions,
Grew grateful in the end; and when he knelt
On Sabbath in the decent Church, he felt
An awe and interest all unknown before,
A new reality religion wore;
And as the man of God its truths proclaimed,
Rebuked, alarmed, exhorted, urged, and shamed,
115
And listening conscience echoed all she heard.
This simple, useful, unambitious life
Unwarped by passion, undisturbed by strife,
To Edward's fluttering heart was new and strange;
Yet sense approved, and taste enjoyed, the change.
Weeks rolled away, and still the rector pressed,
And Edward still remained his willing guest;
And as the time of parting nearer drew,
The more his heart revolted to renew
His former wretched course, and bid his friends adieu.
‘Here man,’ he thought, ‘his destiny fulfils,
‘And finds the goods of life with half its ills.
‘Here mind and heart have both their ample play
‘And chance grows stable 'neath religion's sway.
‘Ah happy life! where simple joys abide,
‘And calm content makes up for all beside!
‘Where man exalted, hallowed, and refined,
‘Lives for his God, himself, and humankind!
‘How shall I leave thee? how return to trace
‘My former round of folly and disgrace,
‘And stand again a blot on fair creation's face?’
And then a conscious shame upon him grew
And his heart sickened at the bleak review,
And awful thoughts arose of God offended,
With strong compunctions and forebodings blended,
A sense of wasted years for ever flown,
And deeds of shame no more to be undone,
And all the fearful images that press
On the lone hours of trembling consciousness.
It was a time of trial, harsh, but good;
His heart was 'neath it humbled and subdued.
Remorse became repentance; and despair
Changed her dark groan at last for faith and prayer:
A sweet assurance o'er his spirit crept,
And at his Saviour's feet he wept,—he wept.
Unwarped by passion, undisturbed by strife,
To Edward's fluttering heart was new and strange;
Yet sense approved, and taste enjoyed, the change.
Weeks rolled away, and still the rector pressed,
And Edward still remained his willing guest;
And as the time of parting nearer drew,
The more his heart revolted to renew
His former wretched course, and bid his friends adieu.
‘Here man,’ he thought, ‘his destiny fulfils,
‘And finds the goods of life with half its ills.
‘Here mind and heart have both their ample play
‘And chance grows stable 'neath religion's sway.
116
‘And calm content makes up for all beside!
‘Where man exalted, hallowed, and refined,
‘Lives for his God, himself, and humankind!
‘How shall I leave thee? how return to trace
‘My former round of folly and disgrace,
‘And stand again a blot on fair creation's face?’
And then a conscious shame upon him grew
And his heart sickened at the bleak review,
And awful thoughts arose of God offended,
With strong compunctions and forebodings blended,
A sense of wasted years for ever flown,
And deeds of shame no more to be undone,
And all the fearful images that press
On the lone hours of trembling consciousness.
It was a time of trial, harsh, but good;
His heart was 'neath it humbled and subdued.
117
Changed her dark groan at last for faith and prayer:
A sweet assurance o'er his spirit crept,
And at his Saviour's feet he wept,—he wept.
Each day confirmed the temper; and he passed
From strength to strength, till all was Heaven's at last.
His former views and sentiments were gone
And every past ambition lost in one,
And that unearthly; for beneath the sky
He now found little to detain his eye.
Life seemed a passage to a place of rest;
A road the lightest-laden travelled best.
He had no wish to fix his dwelling there
Or take too largely of its cumbering care;
As much of earthly goods he still possessed
As nature craved, or wisdom would request.
Enough had to a faithless world been given;
It now was time to live for self and Heaven.
From strength to strength, till all was Heaven's at last.
His former views and sentiments were gone
And every past ambition lost in one,
And that unearthly; for beneath the sky
He now found little to detain his eye.
Life seemed a passage to a place of rest;
A road the lightest-laden travelled best.
He had no wish to fix his dwelling there
Or take too largely of its cumbering care;
As much of earthly goods he still possessed
As nature craved, or wisdom would request.
118
It now was time to live for self and Heaven.
His friends with joy beheld the change; and none
Beheld it with more interest than one,
Of whom, though tempted much, I've little sung,
The Rector's gentle sister, fair and young,
Bright and unearthly as a star of light,
Pure!—But I check my fancy in her flight.
I've said before that she could mend and make,
Wash and get up small linen, boil and bake,
Could keep the heart, and keep the house beside,
And elegant with useful well divide.
Their dwelling, mode of life, and all the rest
My rhymes already have at large expressed.
Beheld it with more interest than one,
Of whom, though tempted much, I've little sung,
The Rector's gentle sister, fair and young,
Bright and unearthly as a star of light,
Pure!—But I check my fancy in her flight.
I've said before that she could mend and make,
Wash and get up small linen, boil and bake,
Could keep the heart, and keep the house beside,
And elegant with useful well divide.
Their dwelling, mode of life, and all the rest
My rhymes already have at large expressed.
119
TALE FIFTH. THE BROTHERS.
“FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FORGIVE THEM
THAT TRESPASS AGAINST US.”
121
SOME years ago, remote in Erin's isle
There dwelt in good old hospitable style,
In huge stone house, and large enclosed demesne
Shane, Master, Squire, nay Prince of Castleshane,
O'er miles of naked, ill-farmed acres round
His woods and walls in lonely grandeur frowned;
And hundreds there of ragged, trembling knaves
Lived on his looks, and joyed to be his slaves.
His cellars with the best of wines o'erflowed,
And groaned his table 'neath its smoking load;
And poor relations round it day by day
Ate, joked, and sang, and swore their hours away.
The priest and parson met in friendship there;
And all were welcome, so they drank their share.
There dwelt in good old hospitable style,
In huge stone house, and large enclosed demesne
Shane, Master, Squire, nay Prince of Castleshane,
O'er miles of naked, ill-farmed acres round
His woods and walls in lonely grandeur frowned;
And hundreds there of ragged, trembling knaves
Lived on his looks, and joyed to be his slaves.
His cellars with the best of wines o'erflowed,
And groaned his table 'neath its smoking load;
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Ate, joked, and sang, and swore their hours away.
The priest and parson met in friendship there;
And all were welcome, so they drank their share.
Shane was a county magistrate; but took
His law from his own brain, and not from book.
And when a puzzling case came up, his worship
Settled the matter by a general horsewhip.
To Dublin every year in state he went
To attend the Castle and the Parliament,
And learn improvements in the useful arts,
And bring down Scottish stewards, ploughs, and carts.
Each guest that came must see and praise in full
His drilled potatoes, and Merino wool,
And all his undertakings and expenses,
In breeds, plantations, crops, and drains, and fences.
But these, and much else of his state and glory,
I now must pass and hasten to my story.
His law from his own brain, and not from book.
And when a puzzling case came up, his worship
Settled the matter by a general horsewhip.
To Dublin every year in state he went
To attend the Castle and the Parliament,
And learn improvements in the useful arts,
And bring down Scottish stewards, ploughs, and carts.
Each guest that came must see and praise in full
His drilled potatoes, and Merino wool,
And all his undertakings and expenses,
In breeds, plantations, crops, and drains, and fences.
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I now must pass and hasten to my story.
Shane (for he scorned all adjunct to a name
Which straight from Erin's ancient monarchs came)
Was married twice, and had from either spouse
A young supporter of his regal house.
An heir indeed had been for years delayed,
While daughter after daughter came instead;
And when at length his prayer was heard, his wife
Paid for the infant blessing with her life.
The widower's vacant eye was after caught
By the fair English Governess, who taught
His elder girls, and tempted, yet denied
His suit so well, she was at length his bride;
And ere twelve months had o'er their union sped,
The wife had borne a son, the sire was dead.
The land was on the elder youth entailed,
But the young widow on her spouse prevailed
To leave by will both property and heir
To his dear wife's sole management and care.
Which straight from Erin's ancient monarchs came)
Was married twice, and had from either spouse
A young supporter of his regal house.
An heir indeed had been for years delayed,
While daughter after daughter came instead;
And when at length his prayer was heard, his wife
Paid for the infant blessing with her life.
The widower's vacant eye was after caught
By the fair English Governess, who taught
His elder girls, and tempted, yet denied
His suit so well, she was at length his bride;
And ere twelve months had o'er their union sped,
The wife had borne a son, the sire was dead.
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But the young widow on her spouse prevailed
To leave by will both property and heir
To his dear wife's sole management and care.
Strange changes now were seen at Castleshane;
Gone were the dinners, claret and champagne.
No errant friends, or poor relations there
Put up their steeds, and took their welcome fare.
The old domestics all were turned away,
The tenants' rents demanded to a day.
Sold were the ploughs, the cattle, horse and hound,
The whole demesne let out to farmers round,
The ancient timber felled, and broken up the ground
And to complete the wreck, when all beside
Was gone, the lady too to England hied;
And a stern agent to the castle sent
To screw the tenants, and transmit the rent.
Gone were the dinners, claret and champagne.
No errant friends, or poor relations there
Put up their steeds, and took their welcome fare.
The old domestics all were turned away,
The tenants' rents demanded to a day.
Sold were the ploughs, the cattle, horse and hound,
The whole demesne let out to farmers round,
The ancient timber felled, and broken up the ground
And to complete the wreck, when all beside
Was gone, the lady too to England hied;
And a stern agent to the castle sent
To screw the tenants, and transmit the rent.
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The boys were put to school, to college then,
And grew apace, and ripened into men:
But as their minds unfolded day by day
The more diverse they shewed in every trait.
Edmund the elder from his earliest youth
Was free and fearless, full of warmth and truth,
Frank, unsuspicious, sensitive, and kind,
And graced alike in person and in mind.
His brother James was secret, smooth, and sly;
He spoke nor acted but with reasons why:
He weighed each look and word with nicest skill,
And checked and feigned all passions at his will.
He early learned his interests, and the art
To wind him round his brother's honest heart;
And watched his moods and motions, and indulged
In hopes and views that might not be divulged.
While Edmund lives, he best can help his ends,
But Edmund dead, and all to James descends.
And grew apace, and ripened into men:
But as their minds unfolded day by day
The more diverse they shewed in every trait.
Edmund the elder from his earliest youth
Was free and fearless, full of warmth and truth,
Frank, unsuspicious, sensitive, and kind,
And graced alike in person and in mind.
His brother James was secret, smooth, and sly;
He spoke nor acted but with reasons why:
He weighed each look and word with nicest skill,
And checked and feigned all passions at his will.
He early learned his interests, and the art
To wind him round his brother's honest heart;
And watched his moods and motions, and indulged
In hopes and views that might not be divulged.
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But Edmund dead, and all to James descends.
On thoughts like these he brooded, till they grew
A part of his existence; gave a hue
And turn to all within him; sent their root
Deep in his soul, and upward bore their fruit;
Grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength,
Till in one foul ambition all at length
Was lost; one viper passion filled his breast,
And like the prophet's rod devoured the rest.
No pains were spared, no practice was untried,
No tempting lure unsought and unapplied;
And his fell spirit, like a stream up pent,
But gained new strength from each impediment.
Yet on through baffled project, plot, and snare,
Young Edmund walked secure, though unaware:
Till came at last the proud eventful age,
That burst the tedious bonds of pupillage.
A part of his existence; gave a hue
And turn to all within him; sent their root
Deep in his soul, and upward bore their fruit;
Grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength,
Till in one foul ambition all at length
Was lost; one viper passion filled his breast,
And like the prophet's rod devoured the rest.
No pains were spared, no practice was untried,
No tempting lure unsought and unapplied;
And his fell spirit, like a stream up pent,
But gained new strength from each impediment.
Yet on through baffled project, plot, and snare,
Young Edmund walked secure, though unaware:
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That burst the tedious bonds of pupillage.
Time passed. And still o'er Edmund's easy soul
The son and mother held their strong controul.
James, now a lawyer, kept his brother's deeds,
Received his rents, and furnished all his needs:
While the base mother fed his appetites,
And kept him quiet, while they filched his rights.
This was however a precarious game
And soon might end, perhaps in loss and shame;
But could poor Edmund once aside be thrown,
Then all for ever were by law their own.
The son and mother held their strong controul.
James, now a lawyer, kept his brother's deeds,
Received his rents, and furnished all his needs:
While the base mother fed his appetites,
And kept him quiet, while they filched his rights.
This was however a precarious game
And soon might end, perhaps in loss and shame;
But could poor Edmund once aside be thrown,
Then all for ever were by law their own.
At length the troublous year of ninety-eight
Arrived; and on the Castleshane estate,
Oppressed, deserted, as the tenants were,
They blindly rushed into rebellious snare;
Held nightly meetings, laws and arms defied,
And rents and taxes to a man denied.
The case was urgent, and confirmed a vow
Which Edmund long had formed, but which till now
Had always met some hindrance, to go o'er
Their real state in person to explore,
Hear their complaints, their grievances reform,
And quell, if possible, the rising storm;
And “come, my friend, my brother and my guide
“Assist me in the generous task,” he cried.
Arrived; and on the Castleshane estate,
128
They blindly rushed into rebellious snare;
Held nightly meetings, laws and arms defied,
And rents and taxes to a man denied.
The case was urgent, and confirmed a vow
Which Edmund long had formed, but which till now
Had always met some hindrance, to go o'er
Their real state in person to explore,
Hear their complaints, their grievances reform,
And quell, if possible, the rising storm;
And “come, my friend, my brother and my guide
“Assist me in the generous task,” he cried.
They went. The kingdom wheresoe'er they came
Boiled like a crater, ere it bursts in flame;
Rolled like the ocean when a storm is near;
And haste, and trouble, and suspense, and fear
Sat in all faces. Fierce debate was heard;
And fiercer thoughts indulged, that breathed no word,
But kept their angry energy to aid
The avenging arm, the liberating blade.
Edmund although in England nursed and trained,
Still for his native land a love retained;
And oft had stood the champion of her wrongs
From foreign prejudice, and sneering tongues;
And argument and declamation here
Found quick reception in his partial ear.
His country's claims, and injuries, and woes
Before him through enlarging medium rose;
And liberty her strong appeal addressed
To a misjudging, though a generous breast.
Boiled like a crater, ere it bursts in flame;
Rolled like the ocean when a storm is near;
And haste, and trouble, and suspense, and fear
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And fiercer thoughts indulged, that breathed no word,
But kept their angry energy to aid
The avenging arm, the liberating blade.
Edmund although in England nursed and trained,
Still for his native land a love retained;
And oft had stood the champion of her wrongs
From foreign prejudice, and sneering tongues;
And argument and declamation here
Found quick reception in his partial ear.
His country's claims, and injuries, and woes
Before him through enlarging medium rose;
And liberty her strong appeal addressed
To a misjudging, though a generous breast.
Now was the time for James. With villain eye
He watched his brother's moods nor failed to ply
His spirit with incentives, and to wind
The chains of error fast around his mind.
From step to step he led his victim on
Till fear and moderation both were gone;
And forth he stood in Freedom's fancied cause
An open rebel to his king and laws.
Meanwhile intelligence was duly sent
Of each proceeding to the Government,
And means soon used their projects to avert,
And bring the leaders up to their desert.
Edmund with sudden consternation learned
All his fond aims detected and o'erturned.
He saw the danger rushing on his head,
One desperate effort at resistance made,
Failed; but escaped pursuit by James's timely aid.
He watched his brother's moods nor failed to ply
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The chains of error fast around his mind.
From step to step he led his victim on
Till fear and moderation both were gone;
And forth he stood in Freedom's fancied cause
An open rebel to his king and laws.
Meanwhile intelligence was duly sent
Of each proceeding to the Government,
And means soon used their projects to avert,
And bring the leaders up to their desert.
Edmund with sudden consternation learned
All his fond aims detected and o'erturned.
He saw the danger rushing on his head,
One desperate effort at resistance made,
Failed; but escaped pursuit by James's timely aid.
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Think not the wolf had now begun to feel;
Think not that any generous appeal
Had reached the heart of James. He only thought
Of what might best advance his fiendish plot.
If Edmund had to open war proceeded,
There was a chance his cause might have succeeded;
If made a prisoner, as matters were,
The law had power, and there were pleas, to spare;
And on himself the office and the stain
Of traitor and accuser must remain.
Besides he saw another readier way
To gain his objects. In a secret bay
Near Castleshane a lawless privateer,
With his connivance, anchored twice a year.
Thither 'twas easy Edmund to ensnare,
And quietly dispose of him when there.
He knew the crew were fit for any deed,
At least when (as they should be) duly feed.
Think not that any generous appeal
Had reached the heart of James. He only thought
Of what might best advance his fiendish plot.
If Edmund had to open war proceeded,
There was a chance his cause might have succeeded;
If made a prisoner, as matters were,
The law had power, and there were pleas, to spare;
And on himself the office and the stain
Of traitor and accuser must remain.
Besides he saw another readier way
To gain his objects. In a secret bay
Near Castleshane a lawless privateer,
With his connivance, anchored twice a year.
Thither 'twas easy Edmund to ensnare,
And quietly dispose of him when there.
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At least when (as they should be) duly feed.
The pirates put to sea, their grand concern,
Their sanguinary recompense to earn.
But as they came to put their plans in force,
Among them rose strange scruples and remorse.
A something in their victim's case and air
Won on their hearts, all ruffian as they were;
And when the bloody deed was to be done,
They slunk back from the office one by one.
At last three fellows, bolder than the rest,
Took it upon them. Edmund now had guessed,
From certain looks and whisperings, that some plot
Was hatching, though he scarce conjectured what.
But when the villains to the cabin came
Stealthy and armed, at once he saw their aim,
And rose, and rushed upon them for his life.
The foremost was struck down; another's knife
Just grazed him as upon the deck he sprung,
And snatching up a random weapon, flung
Back on his hot pursuers, and engaged
Hand to hand boldly with them. Fiercely raged
The unequal conflict; back retired the crew,
And stood aloof the deadly sport to view.
Edmund meanwhile fought backward o'er the deck,
Till at the poop he held all three at check;
And dealt his blows so ably round him there,
He soon brought one to ground. The other pair
Pressed the more hard on him, all efforts plied,
And wounds were shared and dealt on either side;
But a good cause gave weight to Edmund's blade,
And soon another at his feet was laid.
The last assassin fled: and from the rest
A general shout his gallantry confessed.
The captain then stepped forth, disclosed the whole,
Doubt and amaze bewildering Edmund's soul;
Till, all made clear, the feelings struggling there
Passed on through wrath and scorn to blank despair.
He bared his breast. “Come on, come on,” he cried;
“Here in my heart your murderous weapons hide:
“Obey the traitor: let him have his will.”
“Nay, cheer up,” cried the captain, “take not ill
“Our usage: 'twas a job we never loved,
“Though bribes like his might better men have moved.
“But it shall ne'er be said that one of us
“Killed any man for hire in cold blood thus.
“Cast in your lot with us, my lad, and dare
“A bold sea pirate's joys and gains to share.
“Thou lovest freedom. We are of the free,
“The untamed lovers of the rolling sea.
“Quit the false land, its traitors, and its slaves,
“And take with us the fortune of the waves.”
Alas, he had no choice; for death was now
On shore, life and the deep before his prow.
He cursed the treacherous caitiff, joined their cheer,
And roamed the world a reckless buccaneer.
Their sanguinary recompense to earn.
But as they came to put their plans in force,
Among them rose strange scruples and remorse.
A something in their victim's case and air
Won on their hearts, all ruffian as they were;
And when the bloody deed was to be done,
They slunk back from the office one by one.
At last three fellows, bolder than the rest,
Took it upon them. Edmund now had guessed,
From certain looks and whisperings, that some plot
Was hatching, though he scarce conjectured what.
But when the villains to the cabin came
Stealthy and armed, at once he saw their aim,
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The foremost was struck down; another's knife
Just grazed him as upon the deck he sprung,
And snatching up a random weapon, flung
Back on his hot pursuers, and engaged
Hand to hand boldly with them. Fiercely raged
The unequal conflict; back retired the crew,
And stood aloof the deadly sport to view.
Edmund meanwhile fought backward o'er the deck,
Till at the poop he held all three at check;
And dealt his blows so ably round him there,
He soon brought one to ground. The other pair
Pressed the more hard on him, all efforts plied,
And wounds were shared and dealt on either side;
But a good cause gave weight to Edmund's blade,
And soon another at his feet was laid.
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A general shout his gallantry confessed.
The captain then stepped forth, disclosed the whole,
Doubt and amaze bewildering Edmund's soul;
Till, all made clear, the feelings struggling there
Passed on through wrath and scorn to blank despair.
He bared his breast. “Come on, come on,” he cried;
“Here in my heart your murderous weapons hide:
“Obey the traitor: let him have his will.”
“Nay, cheer up,” cried the captain, “take not ill
“Our usage: 'twas a job we never loved,
“Though bribes like his might better men have moved.
“But it shall ne'er be said that one of us
“Killed any man for hire in cold blood thus.
“Cast in your lot with us, my lad, and dare
“A bold sea pirate's joys and gains to share.
135
“The untamed lovers of the rolling sea.
“Quit the false land, its traitors, and its slaves,
“And take with us the fortune of the waves.”
Alas, he had no choice; for death was now
On shore, life and the deep before his prow.
He cursed the treacherous caitiff, joined their cheer,
And roamed the world a reckless buccaneer.
No more was heard of him. The contest closed,
And Ireland was to sullen peace composed;
And James, as heir at law, the objects gained
At which he had so long and basely strained.
But rumours somehow rose, that all had not
Been managed well and fairly as it ought.
The neighbouring gentlemen were cool and shy,
And shunned him though they gave no reason why.
A closer scrutiny he feared to face,
So wisely let the lands, and left the place.
And Ireland was to sullen peace composed;
And James, as heir at law, the objects gained
At which he had so long and basely strained.
But rumours somehow rose, that all had not
Been managed well and fairly as it ought.
The neighbouring gentlemen were cool and shy,
And shunned him though they gave no reason why.
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So wisely let the lands, and left the place.
He left the place, but could not leave behind
The heavy burthen of a rankling mind.
Fly whom he might, himself he could not fly;
His worst accuser, conscience, still was nigh;
Made all his riches poor, his splendours dim,
And flattery but a tuneless taunt to him.
From place to place, from scene to scene he pressed,
And found in restless change his only rest;
No friend nor home in the wide world enjoyed,
And all beyond was madness or a void.
The heavy burthen of a rankling mind.
Fly whom he might, himself he could not fly;
His worst accuser, conscience, still was nigh;
Made all his riches poor, his splendours dim,
And flattery but a tuneless taunt to him.
From place to place, from scene to scene he pressed,
And found in restless change his only rest;
No friend nor home in the wide world enjoyed,
And all beyond was madness or a void.
Thus matters stood with each. Time travelled on.
At last, when many years were passed and gone,
To a small parish town in Devon came
A reverend priest of meek and holy frame.
He lived retired, and a strange mystery hung
Around him. Who he was, and whence he sprung
None knew; or how, or where his youth was spent.
Yet there was somewhat in each lineament
That caught the notice he desired to shun,
And told discernment he had seen and done
More than he chose to mention. On his face
Toil more than time had left its harrowing trace:
The hue of other climes was there displayed;
And words at times dropped from him, that betrayed
A knowledge from strange scenes and manners brought,
And ill consorting with his present lot.
At last, when many years were passed and gone,
137
A reverend priest of meek and holy frame.
He lived retired, and a strange mystery hung
Around him. Who he was, and whence he sprung
None knew; or how, or where his youth was spent.
Yet there was somewhat in each lineament
That caught the notice he desired to shun,
And told discernment he had seen and done
More than he chose to mention. On his face
Toil more than time had left its harrowing trace:
The hue of other climes was there displayed;
And words at times dropped from him, that betrayed
A knowledge from strange scenes and manners brought,
And ill consorting with his present lot.
Yet be he who he might, each sterner trait
Religion's influence much had smoothed away.
A moonlight stillness in his looks was seen,
And all his air was thoughtful and serene.
A trace of melancholy thrid the whole,
Entendering, chilling not, where'er it stole.
Perhaps dark recollections o'er him came,
Constraining self what God forgave to blame;
Perhaps he long had erred from him, and now
Resolved his penitent for aye to bow;
Retaining still a deep and humbling sense
Of what he had been, and should feel from thence.
Howbeit among his little flock he moved
Active, though sad, though distant, yet beloved;
Straight by the line of even duty steered,
And fearing God, no other object feared.
Religion's influence much had smoothed away.
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And all his air was thoughtful and serene.
A trace of melancholy thrid the whole,
Entendering, chilling not, where'er it stole.
Perhaps dark recollections o'er him came,
Constraining self what God forgave to blame;
Perhaps he long had erred from him, and now
Resolved his penitent for aye to bow;
Retaining still a deep and humbling sense
Of what he had been, and should feel from thence.
Howbeit among his little flock he moved
Active, though sad, though distant, yet beloved;
Straight by the line of even duty steered,
And fearing God, no other object feared.
This man was injured Edmund. Here he came
Altered in views, in features, lot, and name;
Come to repay by such a life as this
A morn of trouble with a noon of peace.
The long-lost wanderer by his God was found;
The broken spirit by its Saviour bound.
Heaven had recalled him from his fierce career
Of lawless daring, and had sent him here
To give to God the remnant of his days,
And lead in others to his hallowed ways.
Altered in views, in features, lot, and name;
139
A morn of trouble with a noon of peace.
The long-lost wanderer by his God was found;
The broken spirit by its Saviour bound.
Heaven had recalled him from his fierce career
Of lawless daring, and had sent him here
To give to God the remnant of his days,
And lead in others to his hallowed ways.
The little town where Edmund thus abode
Lay, as it happened, on the public road
To a large watering place upon the coast,
Where fashion yearly sent her restless host.
One day a carriage, journeying thither, met
Close to the town a frightful overset.
A well-dressed man who sat alone within
Was wounded much, and to the village inn
Was brought, and there in great distress and pain
Now lay, and all assistance seemed in vain.
The faculty at last gave up the case,
And now the priest was summoned in their place.
Lay, as it happened, on the public road
To a large watering place upon the coast,
Where fashion yearly sent her restless host.
One day a carriage, journeying thither, met
Close to the town a frightful overset.
A well-dressed man who sat alone within
Was wounded much, and to the village inn
140
Now lay, and all assistance seemed in vain.
The faculty at last gave up the case,
And now the priest was summoned in their place.
Edmund approached, upon the stranger looked,—
It was his brother James.—But he rebuked
His strong emotions, and his face withdrew.
“Leave,” said the man “the chamber to us two.”
They went. “Sir,” he continued, “I have learned
“Much of thy worth and goodness, and have yearned
“To lay my case before thee, and receive
“What comfort thou a dying man canst give.
“I feel it is no season to dissemble,
“When in a few hours longer I must tremble
“At God's dread bar, and all the truth display
“In the broad light of everlasting day.
“These, sir, are things I've tried to disbelieve,
“But am constrained to shudder and receive:
“The frail supports such reasonings can supply
“May serve whereon to live, but not to die.
“I want, I feel it, now a surer stay;
“And haply, sir, thy long experience may
“Suggest such comfort; only with me deal
“In candour, nor compose where thou shouldst heal.
“Thou seest a wretch before thee who has erred
“Deeply and grossly: if thou hast a word
“Of peace for such, say on; I need not add
“How sounds like these a dying ear will glad.”
It was his brother James.—But he rebuked
His strong emotions, and his face withdrew.
“Leave,” said the man “the chamber to us two.”
They went. “Sir,” he continued, “I have learned
“Much of thy worth and goodness, and have yearned
“To lay my case before thee, and receive
“What comfort thou a dying man canst give.
“I feel it is no season to dissemble,
“When in a few hours longer I must tremble
“At God's dread bar, and all the truth display
“In the broad light of everlasting day.
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“But am constrained to shudder and receive:
“The frail supports such reasonings can supply
“May serve whereon to live, but not to die.
“I want, I feel it, now a surer stay;
“And haply, sir, thy long experience may
“Suggest such comfort; only with me deal
“In candour, nor compose where thou shouldst heal.
“Thou seest a wretch before thee who has erred
“Deeply and grossly: if thou hast a word
“Of peace for such, say on; I need not add
“How sounds like these a dying ear will glad.”
Edmund a moment paused. His soul was moved
Within him; but the mood he soon reproved,
And calm replied, “'tis well to know our guilt:
“A sickness to be healed must first be felt.
“None are exempt from sin; but grace is sent
“To all that look to Jesus and repent.”
Within him; but the mood he soon reproved,
And calm replied, “'tis well to know our guilt:
“A sickness to be healed must first be felt.
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“To all that look to Jesus and repent.”
“But mine, sir, mine is a peculiar case,
“Beyond the reach of ordinary grace.
“No venial errors, common to mankind,
“Have stained my life, and now oppress my mind.
“But guilt so black, that tears of blood might fail
“To rase it. Memory sickens, Hope turns pale
“To look at it. And here upon the verge
“Of that dark Ocean, whose next rising surge
“May sweep me in, I tremble now, nor find
“Whereon to rest before me or behind.
“If then thou ownest aught of stronger power
“To comfort such a wretch, at such an hour
“O speak it.”
“Beyond the reach of ordinary grace.
“No venial errors, common to mankind,
“Have stained my life, and now oppress my mind.
“But guilt so black, that tears of blood might fail
“To rase it. Memory sickens, Hope turns pale
“To look at it. And here upon the verge
“Of that dark Ocean, whose next rising surge
“May sweep me in, I tremble now, nor find
“Whereon to rest before me or behind.
“If then thou ownest aught of stronger power
“To comfort such a wretch, at such an hour
“O speak it.”
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“Sir, this language makes me bold,”
Said Edmund, “and were all more plainly told,
“Some mitigating feature might arrest
“Another's eye; the case itself suggest
“Its own peculiar comfort: but be sure,
“Whate'er thy guilt, it is not past a cure.
“The Saviour died that none might feel despair
“Who turn to Him with penitence and prayer.”
Said Edmund, “and were all more plainly told,
“Some mitigating feature might arrest
“Another's eye; the case itself suggest
“Its own peculiar comfort: but be sure,
“Whate'er thy guilt, it is not past a cure.
“The Saviour died that none might feel despair
“Who turn to Him with penitence and prayer.”
“Suppose then, Sir, the blackest and the worst
“Of all that's mean, base, devilish, and accurst.
“Suppose the use of every trick and art
“That mars and desecrates the human heart;
“A show of candour o'er a knot of wiles,
“A soul of hell beneath a face of smiles,
“Worth undermined, and confidence betrayed,
“And love and truth with wrong and hate repaid.
“Suppose one mammon project long pursued,
“And sealed at last with perfidy and blood—
“Suppose the victim of all this to be
“A brother.—O! the kindest! best!—and he
“Duped, beggared, outlawed, murdered—all by me!—
“Is there still hope?”
“Of all that's mean, base, devilish, and accurst.
“Suppose the use of every trick and art
“That mars and desecrates the human heart;
“A show of candour o'er a knot of wiles,
“A soul of hell beneath a face of smiles,
“Worth undermined, and confidence betrayed,
“And love and truth with wrong and hate repaid.
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“And sealed at last with perfidy and blood—
“Suppose the victim of all this to be
“A brother.—O! the kindest! best!—and he
“Duped, beggared, outlawed, murdered—all by me!—
“Is there still hope?”
“Thy guilt indeed is great;
“But God forbids me to set bounds or date
“To his redeeming mercy. Lo the thief
“Who on the cross found pardon and relief!
“To the same Saviour be thy prayer up sent,
“For sure thy language says thou dost relent.
“But God forbids me to set bounds or date
“To his redeeming mercy. Lo the thief
“Who on the cross found pardon and relief!
“To the same Saviour be thy prayer up sent,
“For sure thy language says thou dost relent.
“Relent! O yes! If days and nights of tears,
“If sorrow eating on my joyless years,
“If this false head, all prematurely grey,
“If pangs that cannot rest, and dare not pray,
“If Heaven grown black above, and earth beneath
“Become one gloomy vault, one waste of death;
“If taunt and scorn descried in every face,
“And hunting me forlorn from place to place;
“If to seem less among my fellow men
“Than the poor scribble of some idle pen;
“If envy of the meanest thing that crawls,
‘The idiot's leer, the maniac's chains and walls;
“If death desired, yet dreaded”—
“If sorrow eating on my joyless years,
145
“If pangs that cannot rest, and dare not pray,
“If Heaven grown black above, and earth beneath
“Become one gloomy vault, one waste of death;
“If taunt and scorn descried in every face,
“And hunting me forlorn from place to place;
“If to seem less among my fellow men
“Than the poor scribble of some idle pen;
“If envy of the meanest thing that crawls,
‘The idiot's leer, the maniac's chains and walls;
“If death desired, yet dreaded”—
“Hold, O, hold,
“Enough, enough to mortal ear is told.
“Turn to thy God. With him for mercy plead:
“All is not lost while he can hear and heed.
“My heart bleeds for thee. Lift with me thy prayer.
“Why shouldst thou yield to Satan and despair?”
“Enough, enough to mortal ear is told.
“Turn to thy God. With him for mercy plead:
“All is not lost while he can hear and heed.
146
“Why shouldst thou yield to Satan and despair?”
“I cannot pray. I dare not look on high,
“My brother's form is there to meet my eye.
“His voice is there my conscious plea to drown.
“Yes! his least glance will hurl me headlong down
“From heaven, will be enough my soul to scare
“Down to its place of judgment and despair.
“See where he stands! my murdered brother! see
“He turns his still reproachful eyes on me!
“My brother's form is there to meet my eye.
“His voice is there my conscious plea to drown.
“Yes! his least glance will hurl me headlong down
“From heaven, will be enough my soul to scare
“Down to its place of judgment and despair.
“See where he stands! my murdered brother! see
“He turns his still reproachful eyes on me!
“O! calm this mood, thy wandering thoughts recall!
“Thy brother? O! he pities, pardons all!
“Has he not sins himself to be forgiven?
“How could he look up to his God in Heaven,
“And ask the mercy which himself denied?
“Has he not seen thee? has he not descried
“Thy deep remorse, thy bitterness of soul?
“He has, he has. He knows, forgives the whole.
“He was not wont to own a mood like this:
“And anger cannot dwell where Jesus is.”
“Thy brother? O! he pities, pardons all!
“Has he not sins himself to be forgiven?
“How could he look up to his God in Heaven,
147
“Has he not seen thee? has he not descried
“Thy deep remorse, thy bitterness of soul?
“He has, he has. He knows, forgives the whole.
“He was not wont to own a mood like this:
“And anger cannot dwell where Jesus is.”
“Ah, could I think it so!”
“Then look on me.
“This face is not so changed but thou may'st see
“A brother's likeness in it—Yes, I live!—
“Live to console, to cherish, to forgive!”
“This face is not so changed but thou may'st see
“A brother's likeness in it—Yes, I live!—
“Live to console, to cherish, to forgive!”
There have been looks of power; and souls have shook
And shrunk and quailed before one awful look.
The eye of Marius struck the slave to stone
Who came to slay him fettered and alone.
A look from Christ pierced Peter like a sword
In Pilate's hall, when he denied his Lord.
The hosts of Pharoah in the deep were awed
And checked, and scattered by one look from God.
As strong, as thrilling though with love they gushed,
The looks of Edmund on his brother rushed.
He started up as lightly from the bed,
As if his pain and weakness all were fled;
Held back and glared awhile in Edmund's face,
Then dropped exhausted in his spread embrace.
“He lives! thank God! thank God!” he faintly cried,
Then back upon the pillow sank, and died.
And shrunk and quailed before one awful look.
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Who came to slay him fettered and alone.
A look from Christ pierced Peter like a sword
In Pilate's hall, when he denied his Lord.
The hosts of Pharoah in the deep were awed
And checked, and scattered by one look from God.
As strong, as thrilling though with love they gushed,
The looks of Edmund on his brother rushed.
He started up as lightly from the bed,
As if his pain and weakness all were fled;
Held back and glared awhile in Edmund's face,
Then dropped exhausted in his spread embrace.
“He lives! thank God! thank God!” he faintly cried,
Then back upon the pillow sank, and died.
149
TALE SIXTH. THE PREACHER.
“LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION, BUT DELIVER
US FROM EVIL.”
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THE meeting now was o'er, and up the street
Rang through the dark the clink of pattened feet.
Dame closed her cloak around her head with care,
To screen her heated face from the night air.
Miss with one hand clung closely to her brother,
And held her sunday skirt up with the other.
One good man here was humming low and dim
A favourite stave of the concluding hymn.
Another, as he went, his head perplexed
With all the drifts and bearings of the text;
And now and then the ear ‘good night’ might catch,
Commixed with screaking lock and lifted latch.
Rang through the dark the clink of pattened feet.
Dame closed her cloak around her head with care,
To screen her heated face from the night air.
Miss with one hand clung closely to her brother,
And held her sunday skirt up with the other.
One good man here was humming low and dim
A favourite stave of the concluding hymn.
Another, as he went, his head perplexed
With all the drifts and bearings of the text;
152
Commixed with screaking lock and lifted latch.
On the dark margin of a puddle flood,
Doubtful how deep, Miss Bridget Wilkins stood.
With lanthorn Mrs. Green came up at last,
And showed a passage o'er, and o'er they passed;
And as together up the street they strayed,
Thus to the widow spake the ancient maid.
“What, if such question may be asked of her,
“Thinks Mrs. Green of our new Minister?
“How felt she under his discourse to night?”
“Indeed Miss Wilkins it o'erpowered me quite;—
“So close, and so awakening, I declare
“Paul might himself have owned it. Then his prayer,
“Say did you ever hear a finer gift?”
“Why, Ma'am, we must not over closely sift
“So young a man: but if I might determine,
“His prayer had less of unction than his sermon,
“Yet give him more experience, and through grace
“I trust he'll prove a blessing to this place.”
“You see,” said Mrs. Green, “even now the meeting
“Is grown so throng one scarce can find a sitting;
“And the trustees, I'm told, expect to clear
“The whole debt off it in another year.
“I must say too, myself and all I've heard
“Have found already good beneath the word.”
“O, doubtless! but you know, dear Mrs. Green,
“Gifts are not graces, that is all I mean:
“'Tis easier too to call in them that stray,
“Than build up souls already in the way.
“His sermons may do many hearers good;
“But old professors look for stronger food.”
“Well, ma'am,” cried Mrs. Green, “old Mr. Bray
“Came down into my shop the other day
“To buy some snuff; (he always buys of me,)
“And so he said, good Mrs. Green, says he,
“You've heard our preacher; la, sir, yes, I says;
“And don't you think him quite a Barnabas?
“Says Mr. Bray; and he was called, you know,
“Under John Dunn full forty years ago.”
“O ma'am,” Miss Wilkins answered,—but a rut
Just here tripped up her argument and foot,
And called her thoughts from loftier objects down
To spattered stocking and soiled sunday gown.
Doubtful how deep, Miss Bridget Wilkins stood.
With lanthorn Mrs. Green came up at last,
And showed a passage o'er, and o'er they passed;
And as together up the street they strayed,
Thus to the widow spake the ancient maid.
“What, if such question may be asked of her,
“Thinks Mrs. Green of our new Minister?
“How felt she under his discourse to night?”
“Indeed Miss Wilkins it o'erpowered me quite;—
“So close, and so awakening, I declare
“Paul might himself have owned it. Then his prayer,
“Say did you ever hear a finer gift?”
“Why, Ma'am, we must not over closely sift
153
“His prayer had less of unction than his sermon,
“Yet give him more experience, and through grace
“I trust he'll prove a blessing to this place.”
“You see,” said Mrs. Green, “even now the meeting
“Is grown so throng one scarce can find a sitting;
“And the trustees, I'm told, expect to clear
“The whole debt off it in another year.
“I must say too, myself and all I've heard
“Have found already good beneath the word.”
“O, doubtless! but you know, dear Mrs. Green,
“Gifts are not graces, that is all I mean:
“'Tis easier too to call in them that stray,
“Than build up souls already in the way.
“His sermons may do many hearers good;
“But old professors look for stronger food.”
154
“Came down into my shop the other day
“To buy some snuff; (he always buys of me,)
“And so he said, good Mrs. Green, says he,
“You've heard our preacher; la, sir, yes, I says;
“And don't you think him quite a Barnabas?
“Says Mr. Bray; and he was called, you know,
“Under John Dunn full forty years ago.”
“O ma'am,” Miss Wilkins answered,—but a rut
Just here tripped up her argument and foot,
And called her thoughts from loftier objects down
To spattered stocking and soiled sunday gown.
George Jones, the minister, whose powers and claims
Were settled thus by these loquacious dames,
Readier to scan and criticise their preacher,
Than meekly use him for their guide and teacher,
Had for a few months past with much renown
Filled the dissenting pulpit of their Town;
And all his flock had of him heard or seen
Quite justified the praise of Mrs. Green.
His parents born and bred, good worthy people,
In due disdain of prayer book and steeple,
Kept in a neighbouring town a grocer's shop,
Where passing preachers oft were wont to stop.
And little George soon caught an admiration
Of their grave manners, and high occupation;
And a desire grew on him day by day
To dress in black, and look and talk as they.
His parents saw, encouraged the ambition,
And in due time obtained the boy's admission
To a renowned Academy, from whence
The youth anon stepped forth your Reverence.
Were settled thus by these loquacious dames,
Readier to scan and criticise their preacher,
Than meekly use him for their guide and teacher,
155
Filled the dissenting pulpit of their Town;
And all his flock had of him heard or seen
Quite justified the praise of Mrs. Green.
His parents born and bred, good worthy people,
In due disdain of prayer book and steeple,
Kept in a neighbouring town a grocer's shop,
Where passing preachers oft were wont to stop.
And little George soon caught an admiration
Of their grave manners, and high occupation;
And a desire grew on him day by day
To dress in black, and look and talk as they.
His parents saw, encouraged the ambition,
And in due time obtained the boy's admission
To a renowned Academy, from whence
The youth anon stepped forth your Reverence.
156
A call soon came, and forth our preacher went
With many a glowing hope and high intent;
His head with needful learning well informed,
His heart with zeal and ardour duly warmed,
Correct in dress, in air, in gait, in phrase,
And all the other nice et ceteras.
Doddridge and Henry, Williams, Owen, Gill
All helped to whet his controversial skill.
On the five points he learnedly could speak,
Could talk of Hebrew roots, and sport some Greek;
Cut up Establishments from flank to centre,
And prove that Enos was the first dissenter;
From Scripture on all subjects aptly quote,
And preach an hour without a book or note:
And when to heaven he raised his fluent prayer,
You'd almost think he'd spent his lifetime there.
With many a glowing hope and high intent;
His head with needful learning well informed,
His heart with zeal and ardour duly warmed,
Correct in dress, in air, in gait, in phrase,
And all the other nice et ceteras.
Doddridge and Henry, Williams, Owen, Gill
All helped to whet his controversial skill.
On the five points he learnedly could speak,
Could talk of Hebrew roots, and sport some Greek;
Cut up Establishments from flank to centre,
And prove that Enos was the first dissenter;
From Scripture on all subjects aptly quote,
And preach an hour without a book or note:
And when to heaven he raised his fluent prayer,
You'd almost think he'd spent his lifetime there.
157
His private walk consisted with the rest;
He fared with plainness, and with plainness dressed.
His looks were grave, his conduct circumspect,
His whole demeanour decent and correct.
Fond of his books, retirement, and his pen,
He seldom joined the busy throng of men;
He seldom came where folly laughed around,
And if thrown there, he rather sighed than frowned:
Watchful to win them from their ribbald mood,
And lead to sensible if not to good;
Or bid some moral from their trash to rise,
As muddiest pools send tribute to the skies.
At home you found him on his knees at prayer,
Or o'er his bible bent with studious care.
Abroad you met him gliding to the shed,
Where sickness tossed upon her restless bed;
Or death's approach taught folly to be grave,
And vice grow humble as a new-whipt slave.
He fared with plainness, and with plainness dressed.
His looks were grave, his conduct circumspect,
His whole demeanour decent and correct.
Fond of his books, retirement, and his pen,
He seldom joined the busy throng of men;
He seldom came where folly laughed around,
And if thrown there, he rather sighed than frowned:
Watchful to win them from their ribbald mood,
And lead to sensible if not to good;
Or bid some moral from their trash to rise,
As muddiest pools send tribute to the skies.
At home you found him on his knees at prayer,
Or o'er his bible bent with studious care.
Abroad you met him gliding to the shed,
Where sickness tossed upon her restless bed;
158
And vice grow humble as a new-whipt slave.
Such gifts, united to such worth and zeal,
Could hardly fail of finding many a seal.
The hardened heart beneath the word was moved,
Mourners consoled, and backsliders reproved.
His sermons well-delivered, bold and striking,
Were much adapted to the general liking.
And to the meeting crowds from far and near
Came the new minister to praise and hear.
The Gospel seemed to lose its due offence,
And pleased even where it failed to influence.
Religious coteries were held around,
Where he was asked to take tea and expound.
He urged at public meetings with applause
The Bible and the Missionary cause.
And at the neighbouring towns on state occasions,
Preached by desire to crowded congregations.
Could hardly fail of finding many a seal.
The hardened heart beneath the word was moved,
Mourners consoled, and backsliders reproved.
His sermons well-delivered, bold and striking,
Were much adapted to the general liking.
And to the meeting crowds from far and near
Came the new minister to praise and hear.
The Gospel seemed to lose its due offence,
And pleased even where it failed to influence.
Religious coteries were held around,
Where he was asked to take tea and expound.
He urged at public meetings with applause
The Bible and the Missionary cause.
159
Preached by desire to crowded congregations.
O popular applause, the poet cries,
What heart of man can stand thy sorceries?
How can'st thou bring the lofty motive down,
And pick the jewel out of virtue's crown.
Jones, unalarmed pursued his high career,
And drank the pleasant poison through his ear;
His growing triumph with complacence eyed,
And all the while scarce knew that it was pride:
With other feelings mingled and connected,
The passion rose and flourished undetected;
And like the ocean current's secret force,
That draws the vessel from her destined course,
And leads her grimly on, while winds are fair,
And hopes are high, to shipwreck, and despair;
So this one passion upon Jones's soul
Urged its incessant, unobserved control;
Led him from step to step, till God began
To share the homage of his heart with man;
And truth and boldness yielded by degrees,
To the omnipotent desire to please.
And though he still went through the same routine,
Prayed thrice a day, and read good books between,
Yet were his prayers less warm than eloquent;
And when he read, 'twas more with the intent
Of finding some neat phrase, or happy thought
For his next sermon, than applying aught
To his own erring heart. He likewise took
New pains concerning dress, and gait, and look,
Aimed at a nice correctness of expression,
And made to favorite foibles large concession.
When rich, though lax, professors gave their dinners,
He went and sat with publicans and sinners;
And heard discourse he should not calmly hear,
But passed it by, not to be thought austere.
And among others made acquaintance there
With a rich merchant's daughter, young and fair:
Not a decided Christian it was true,
Nor one whom he could well aspire to woo;
Yet there was kindly interchange of eyes,
And hopes indulged, which time might realize.
What heart of man can stand thy sorceries?
How can'st thou bring the lofty motive down,
And pick the jewel out of virtue's crown.
Jones, unalarmed pursued his high career,
And drank the pleasant poison through his ear;
His growing triumph with complacence eyed,
And all the while scarce knew that it was pride:
With other feelings mingled and connected,
The passion rose and flourished undetected;
And like the ocean current's secret force,
That draws the vessel from her destined course,
And leads her grimly on, while winds are fair,
And hopes are high, to shipwreck, and despair;
160
Urged its incessant, unobserved control;
Led him from step to step, till God began
To share the homage of his heart with man;
And truth and boldness yielded by degrees,
To the omnipotent desire to please.
And though he still went through the same routine,
Prayed thrice a day, and read good books between,
Yet were his prayers less warm than eloquent;
And when he read, 'twas more with the intent
Of finding some neat phrase, or happy thought
For his next sermon, than applying aught
To his own erring heart. He likewise took
New pains concerning dress, and gait, and look,
Aimed at a nice correctness of expression,
And made to favorite foibles large concession.
161
He went and sat with publicans and sinners;
And heard discourse he should not calmly hear,
But passed it by, not to be thought austere.
And among others made acquaintance there
With a rich merchant's daughter, young and fair:
Not a decided Christian it was true,
Nor one whom he could well aspire to woo;
Yet there was kindly interchange of eyes,
And hopes indulged, which time might realize.
Alas! Alas! what thought and care are here!
Where is that single eye, that aim sincere,
That rich enthusiast energy of soul,
Which breathed through word and act, and warmed the whole?
Where is that high devotedness of mind,
Which left the world and all its cares behind?
Which drew its every impulse from above,
And deemed all base that sprung from less than love?
Now self with God maintained divided sway,
And earth from heaven stole more than half away.
Loose on the world's false stream his bark was cast,
And to the rocks below was drifting fast:
While he who should the rescuing oar assume,
Smiled on the wave that whirled him to his doom.
Where is that single eye, that aim sincere,
That rich enthusiast energy of soul,
Which breathed through word and act, and warmed the whole?
162
Which left the world and all its cares behind?
Which drew its every impulse from above,
And deemed all base that sprung from less than love?
Now self with God maintained divided sway,
And earth from heaven stole more than half away.
Loose on the world's false stream his bark was cast,
And to the rocks below was drifting fast:
While he who should the rescuing oar assume,
Smiled on the wave that whirled him to his doom.
Worse grew the symptoms. Prayer at morn and night
Was first slurred over, then neglected quite.
His sermons grew more flowery and correct,
But failed in point and practical effect.
On doctrine now exclusively he dwelt,
Though clear, yet cold, more understood than felt.
No cot he entered, and no poor relieved,
Or if he did, took care to be perceived.
He sought the rule of conduct to reduce,
And fit its standard to his private use:
And every word and act betrayed the case,
Of one declining fast from God and grace.
Whispers indeed arose, and hints were dropped
Even in his presence, but his ears were stopped;
And that which should have roused, but gave offence,
And was resented as impertinence.
A party too upon his side was made,
Who puffed and praised whate'er he did or said;
And all who differed from their special creed,
Were scoffed till they were silent,—or agreed.
Was first slurred over, then neglected quite.
His sermons grew more flowery and correct,
But failed in point and practical effect.
On doctrine now exclusively he dwelt,
Though clear, yet cold, more understood than felt.
163
Or if he did, took care to be perceived.
He sought the rule of conduct to reduce,
And fit its standard to his private use:
And every word and act betrayed the case,
Of one declining fast from God and grace.
Whispers indeed arose, and hints were dropped
Even in his presence, but his ears were stopped;
And that which should have roused, but gave offence,
And was resented as impertinence.
A party too upon his side was made,
Who puffed and praised whate'er he did or said;
And all who differed from their special creed,
Were scoffed till they were silent,—or agreed.
But there was one whose voice he could not drown,
One strong accuser not to be put down:
Conscience, the faithful witness of her God,
By arts unbiassed, and by fears unawed.
Close by the spring of thought with watchful eyes
She sits, and notes its bubblings as they rise,
And passes sentence on each aim and plan,
The voice of God within the soul of man.
Her warnings heard drop manna in their train;
Her warnings spurned, they come, they come again,
Their still small pleadings swelling into wrath,
And hang vindictive on the sinner's path,
Watching the hour of weakness and distress,
To rise and hurl his hopes to nothingness.
Yes! she will find her time, when shift and art
No more shall serve to screen the guilty heart;
Nor sophistry's dark spell, nor laughter's din
Disarm or drown her thunders from within.
She tracks her victim down into the tomb;
She rises with him at the trump of doom;
Meets him in heaven, his worst accuser there;
Confounds his pleas, and awes him to despair:
Nor quits him even in his hell below,
But feeds the eternal fire, and points the penal woe.
This best of friends, and fearfullest of foes,
Left not poor Jones to error and repose.
She gave him timely warning when he strayed,
And oft returned to check him and upbraid.
Mid triumphs, praise, and partisans, he yet
Was ill at ease. He looked back with regret
To days when love was pure and hopes were high,
And all his wishes tended to the sky.
But worldliness and weakness, shame and pride,
Their tenfold chain around his spirit tied;
And urged him onward in his cheerless course
Of smiling pain, and prosperous remorse.
One strong accuser not to be put down:
164
By arts unbiassed, and by fears unawed.
Close by the spring of thought with watchful eyes
She sits, and notes its bubblings as they rise,
And passes sentence on each aim and plan,
The voice of God within the soul of man.
Her warnings heard drop manna in their train;
Her warnings spurned, they come, they come again,
Their still small pleadings swelling into wrath,
And hang vindictive on the sinner's path,
Watching the hour of weakness and distress,
To rise and hurl his hopes to nothingness.
Yes! she will find her time, when shift and art
No more shall serve to screen the guilty heart;
Nor sophistry's dark spell, nor laughter's din
Disarm or drown her thunders from within.
165
She rises with him at the trump of doom;
Meets him in heaven, his worst accuser there;
Confounds his pleas, and awes him to despair:
Nor quits him even in his hell below,
But feeds the eternal fire, and points the penal woe.
This best of friends, and fearfullest of foes,
Left not poor Jones to error and repose.
She gave him timely warning when he strayed,
And oft returned to check him and upbraid.
Mid triumphs, praise, and partisans, he yet
Was ill at ease. He looked back with regret
To days when love was pure and hopes were high,
And all his wishes tended to the sky.
But worldliness and weakness, shame and pride,
Their tenfold chain around his spirit tied;
166
Of smiling pain, and prosperous remorse.
Now Jones with an old lady lodged; who kept
Nor man, nor maid, save a young niece, that swept
The chambers, made the beds, and all the rest.
And in the afternoon when she was dressed,
Her day's work done, or when she sat on high
On Sabbaths in the meeting gallery,
No prettier lass was there, at least in Jones's eye.
Strange thoughts for Jones! in such a place most strange!
But loose the will, and who shall bound its range?
Who, the least opening once allowed to sin,
Shall keep the worst from forcing entrance in.
As the girl passed before him to and fro,
As to his room he saw her come and go,
As she sat up to let him in at night,
And daily moved and tended in his sight,
New feelings in his heart began to rise,
And new desires looked lightly from his eyes,
And liberties were taken,—and allowed;—
The simple-hearted girl in truth felt proud
Of his attentions; and perhaps her hope
At matrimonial schemes might vaguely grope;
And all she meant was haply but to lure
Her prey so far as made his capture sure.
Yet as she yielded little boon on boon,
Met him in times and places opportune,
Toyed and coquetted with him, passion grew,
And caution, fear, and awkwardness withdrew,
And matters fell into that fatal track,
Where power is none to stop or to go back;
Where every feeble effort to retire
Serves but to add fresh fuel to desire;
And each so much has granted or has done,
That fear and shame compel them to go on.
Virtue's frail outworks all to earth down-cast,
And every favour granted, but the last;
Alas! this followed soon,—soon all was o'er—
And infamy and woe made theirs for evermore.
Nor man, nor maid, save a young niece, that swept
The chambers, made the beds, and all the rest.
And in the afternoon when she was dressed,
Her day's work done, or when she sat on high
On Sabbaths in the meeting gallery,
No prettier lass was there, at least in Jones's eye.
Strange thoughts for Jones! in such a place most strange!
But loose the will, and who shall bound its range?
Who, the least opening once allowed to sin,
Shall keep the worst from forcing entrance in.
As the girl passed before him to and fro,
As to his room he saw her come and go,
167
And daily moved and tended in his sight,
New feelings in his heart began to rise,
And new desires looked lightly from his eyes,
And liberties were taken,—and allowed;—
The simple-hearted girl in truth felt proud
Of his attentions; and perhaps her hope
At matrimonial schemes might vaguely grope;
And all she meant was haply but to lure
Her prey so far as made his capture sure.
Yet as she yielded little boon on boon,
Met him in times and places opportune,
Toyed and coquetted with him, passion grew,
And caution, fear, and awkwardness withdrew,
And matters fell into that fatal track,
Where power is none to stop or to go back;
168
Serves but to add fresh fuel to desire;
And each so much has granted or has done,
That fear and shame compel them to go on.
Virtue's frail outworks all to earth down-cast,
And every favour granted, but the last;
Alas! this followed soon,—soon all was o'er—
And infamy and woe made theirs for evermore.
Now came the restless day, the sleepless night,
The loathing of all pure and calm delight,
The inward fire that nought could sate or tame,
The lawless will, the life without an aim,
The long remorse succeeding transient joys,
The shame that festers and the glut that cloys;
Repentance marring sensual gust, and sense
Mocking in turn resolve and penitence;
The dread of every eye, and all the mean
Resorts that pride must stoop to, for a screen;
The sense of deepening guilt, and tanglement
In fetters daily harder to be rent:
And strong subjection to each shifting mood,
Each weakness, want, and wish of womanhood.
For she his paramour must now be pleased,
Her fancies humoured, and her fears appeased;
Her tell-tale tears, whate'er the cost, be dried,
And soothing sophistries at large supplied;
And each high principle before professed
Renounced, disproved, to give her scruples rest.
Humbling all this; and yet he must be tame,
Be mute, though charged with wrong, and urged with claim,
Bear each outbreaking fierce and unrefined
Of a weak, headstrong, selfish, harassed mind.
And come what may, indifference, disgust,
Still prudence must supply the place of lust;
Else jealousy may note and take offence,
And who can tell each dangerous consequence?
The loathing of all pure and calm delight,
The inward fire that nought could sate or tame,
The lawless will, the life without an aim,
The long remorse succeeding transient joys,
The shame that festers and the glut that cloys;
Repentance marring sensual gust, and sense
Mocking in turn resolve and penitence;
169
Resorts that pride must stoop to, for a screen;
The sense of deepening guilt, and tanglement
In fetters daily harder to be rent:
And strong subjection to each shifting mood,
Each weakness, want, and wish of womanhood.
For she his paramour must now be pleased,
Her fancies humoured, and her fears appeased;
Her tell-tale tears, whate'er the cost, be dried,
And soothing sophistries at large supplied;
And each high principle before professed
Renounced, disproved, to give her scruples rest.
Humbling all this; and yet he must be tame,
Be mute, though charged with wrong, and urged with claim,
Bear each outbreaking fierce and unrefined
Of a weak, headstrong, selfish, harassed mind.
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Still prudence must supply the place of lust;
Else jealousy may note and take offence,
And who can tell each dangerous consequence?
Such was his abject life; but words are faint
The deepening horrors of his state to paint.
His loathings, degradations, fear and shame,
And still constrained to smile and smile the same,
In seeming love mistrust and scorn to slur,
And be reproached at once by self and her;
And feel himself, his all, within the power
Of one he scarce can still from hour to hour.
O to retrace his course of guilt and pain,
And what should tempt him thus to stray again.
O for one respite, one resource to bless
With faintest ray his gathering distress.
But no—none comes!—he still must fawn and hate,
Soothe, and yet dread—be calm, and desperate.
The deepening horrors of his state to paint.
His loathings, degradations, fear and shame,
And still constrained to smile and smile the same,
In seeming love mistrust and scorn to slur,
And be reproached at once by self and her;
And feel himself, his all, within the power
Of one he scarce can still from hour to hour.
O to retrace his course of guilt and pain,
And what should tempt him thus to stray again.
O for one respite, one resource to bless
With faintest ray his gathering distress.
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Soothe, and yet dread—be calm, and desperate.
See where he moves a troubled downcast man,
Moody and vague, without intent or plan;
How sits dejection on his sallow face!
How dull his eye, how halt his leaden pace!
His spirit tamed, his energies o'erthrown,
All faces, all pursuits oppressive grown,
Now forth he treads the long and level sand,
Where the big waves roll booming up to land,
Now saunters up the cliffs forlorn and slow,
To sit, and gaze down on the tide below,
Pouring his anguish out upon the breeze,
And mingling murmurs with the murmuring seas,
Till gathering night, or duty's irksome chain
Drags him back home to agony again.
Moody and vague, without intent or plan;
How sits dejection on his sallow face!
How dull his eye, how halt his leaden pace!
His spirit tamed, his energies o'erthrown,
All faces, all pursuits oppressive grown,
Now forth he treads the long and level sand,
Where the big waves roll booming up to land,
Now saunters up the cliffs forlorn and slow,
To sit, and gaze down on the tide below,
Pouring his anguish out upon the breeze,
And mingling murmurs with the murmuring seas,
Till gathering night, or duty's irksome chain
Drags him back home to agony again.
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But sterner cause comes now of grief and shame;
Another claim appears, a mother's claim;—
She stands before him calling him to give
A father to the babe that soon must live.
She stands before him in her helplessness,
And tells her state, and sues him for redress;
Sues him to pity her distress and shame
And screen her frailty with a spouse's name.
What shall he do? ah! names and rites are vain,
From either now to wipe the branded stain!
But stilled she must be, till despair may shape
Some unthought means of refuge or escape.
At times he thinks of fleeing from the place,
At times of boldly facing his disgrace;
A thousand plans are formed, resigned again,
And things move on in just the same dark train;
She urgent, he distracted, and the day
Approaching fast that must the worst display.
Another claim appears, a mother's claim;—
She stands before him calling him to give
A father to the babe that soon must live.
She stands before him in her helplessness,
And tells her state, and sues him for redress;
Sues him to pity her distress and shame
And screen her frailty with a spouse's name.
What shall he do? ah! names and rites are vain,
From either now to wipe the branded stain!
But stilled she must be, till despair may shape
Some unthought means of refuge or escape.
At times he thinks of fleeing from the place,
At times of boldly facing his disgrace;
A thousand plans are formed, resigned again,
And things move on in just the same dark train;
She urgent, he distracted, and the day
Approaching fast that must the worst display.
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'Tis night. The wind is up, and o'er the Heaven
The clouds are like a routed army driven;
Across the moon's pale disk they pass, and throw
Fits of alternate light and shade below.
There is a tumult in the air, the roar
Of billows tumbling on the lengthened shore,
And now and then the solitary wail
Of the wild curlew screaming down the gale.
Who rushes forth so strangely to the night?
Who to the beach pursues his hurried flight,
And climbs the cliffs, and takes his station there
Tragic and stern, a statue of despair?
'Tis Jones! He quits his home of strife and fear,
To cool his forehead in the fresh breeze here;
To vent his burthened heart without restraint,
And seek dark ease in uncontrolled complaint.
And lo another follows close! Tis she
Pursuing him with her relentless plea.
Rash girl! ah tempt him not too far! his brain
Is wild, his thoughts are dangerous; refrain
To urge a desperate man in such a place!
He springs upon her,—in his fierce embrace
Has grasped her;—hark! they struggle,—and a cry
Above the night wind shrills out piercingly!
Then one loud plash into the boiling deep,—
And all is hushed again,—save the long sweep
Of waves upon the rocks, and the low moan
Of the fresh breeze that drives the light clouds on
Across the moon, still shining out as bright
As if no foul deed met her here to night.
The clouds are like a routed army driven;
Across the moon's pale disk they pass, and throw
Fits of alternate light and shade below.
There is a tumult in the air, the roar
Of billows tumbling on the lengthened shore,
And now and then the solitary wail
Of the wild curlew screaming down the gale.
Who rushes forth so strangely to the night?
Who to the beach pursues his hurried flight,
And climbs the cliffs, and takes his station there
Tragic and stern, a statue of despair?
'Tis Jones! He quits his home of strife and fear,
To cool his forehead in the fresh breeze here;
To vent his burthened heart without restraint,
And seek dark ease in uncontrolled complaint.
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Pursuing him with her relentless plea.
Rash girl! ah tempt him not too far! his brain
Is wild, his thoughts are dangerous; refrain
To urge a desperate man in such a place!
He springs upon her,—in his fierce embrace
Has grasped her;—hark! they struggle,—and a cry
Above the night wind shrills out piercingly!
Then one loud plash into the boiling deep,—
And all is hushed again,—save the long sweep
Of waves upon the rocks, and the low moan
Of the fresh breeze that drives the light clouds on
Across the moon, still shining out as bright
As if no foul deed met her here to night.
The morning comes,—and she is gone,—and none
Know or conjecture whither. Days pass on,
And still she reappears not. Hope and fear
Alternate sway, and draw and dry the tear.
Research is made—in vain—nor clue nor trace
Is found whereby to extricate the case.
In night's close womb the horrid secret slept;
The stars declared it not; the dark waves kept
Their counsel, nor the conscious winds confessed.
And all was still,—all save the boding breast
Of Jones. One fear from thence, one foe was gone,
But ah! a feller, deadlier now comes on!
Conscience arises in her strength, and shakes
Her terrors on his soul. At night he wakes
And trembles, and by day he cannot rest.
Detection hangs on him; his thoughts are pressed
With chains and gibbets; dark suspicions lie
In each light word, and lour from every eye.
She too is at his side, and ah! her pleas
Are heard more loud than ever. Now he sees
Her smiling in her first fair innocence;
Anon she comes the thing of shame and sense
His baseness made her. Then that fatal night
Returns. Her looks, her words of wild affright
Rush on him. On the lone cliff's dizzy verge
They stand, they struggle. Down into the surge
He hurls her thence; she shrieks, she sinks, she dies.
But hark! the trumpet sounds, the dead arise
To Judgment! he is there; and she, aye she
Comes to sear up each hope, and drown each plea!
His friends too all are round to see, to hear;
And Jesus!—Jesus gracious once and dear,
But ah! how wronged, insulted, outraged now,
Scorn on His lip, and sternness on His brow.
Wretch! and he still must smile! must try to throw
A veil of calmness o'er the storm below;
Still in the pulpit take his usual place,
Still bend the knee, and formalize the face,
Preach, and exhort, and warn, and yet feel all
Back on his head in keen reproaches fall,
And treat of themes divine of God and Heaven,
And be the while dark, hopeless, unforgiven.
He cannot long stand this; to whine and prate
Of holy things, himself a reprobate;
To hear men call his counsel and his prayers
Down on their souls, his own a hell to theirs.
Without a tear to wet his hot red eye,
Loathing to live, and yet afraid to die,
His friends a load to him, and these away
God and his own wild thoughts still worse than they,
Reason at last sank down, and strong despair
Usurped her place, and reigned triumphant there.
He hurried forth regardless where or why,
Flying he knows not whom,—but he must fly;
And 'neath night's covert left his joyless home,
Far from all eyes at will to rave and roam.
Know or conjecture whither. Days pass on,
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Alternate sway, and draw and dry the tear.
Research is made—in vain—nor clue nor trace
Is found whereby to extricate the case.
In night's close womb the horrid secret slept;
The stars declared it not; the dark waves kept
Their counsel, nor the conscious winds confessed.
And all was still,—all save the boding breast
Of Jones. One fear from thence, one foe was gone,
But ah! a feller, deadlier now comes on!
Conscience arises in her strength, and shakes
Her terrors on his soul. At night he wakes
And trembles, and by day he cannot rest.
Detection hangs on him; his thoughts are pressed
With chains and gibbets; dark suspicions lie
In each light word, and lour from every eye.
176
Are heard more loud than ever. Now he sees
Her smiling in her first fair innocence;
Anon she comes the thing of shame and sense
His baseness made her. Then that fatal night
Returns. Her looks, her words of wild affright
Rush on him. On the lone cliff's dizzy verge
They stand, they struggle. Down into the surge
He hurls her thence; she shrieks, she sinks, she dies.
But hark! the trumpet sounds, the dead arise
To Judgment! he is there; and she, aye she
Comes to sear up each hope, and drown each plea!
His friends too all are round to see, to hear;
And Jesus!—Jesus gracious once and dear,
But ah! how wronged, insulted, outraged now,
Scorn on His lip, and sternness on His brow.
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A veil of calmness o'er the storm below;
Still in the pulpit take his usual place,
Still bend the knee, and formalize the face,
Preach, and exhort, and warn, and yet feel all
Back on his head in keen reproaches fall,
And treat of themes divine of God and Heaven,
And be the while dark, hopeless, unforgiven.
He cannot long stand this; to whine and prate
Of holy things, himself a reprobate;
To hear men call his counsel and his prayers
Down on their souls, his own a hell to theirs.
Without a tear to wet his hot red eye,
Loathing to live, and yet afraid to die,
His friends a load to him, and these away
God and his own wild thoughts still worse than they,
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Usurped her place, and reigned triumphant there.
He hurried forth regardless where or why,
Flying he knows not whom,—but he must fly;
And 'neath night's covert left his joyless home,
Far from all eyes at will to rave and roam.
The neighbouring peasants met him the next day,
Roving the open heath in strange array;
His looks were gaunt and pale, his head was bare,
And his black locks streamed loose upon the air;
He fled before them like a thing distraught,
And to their calls and queries answered nought.
At length they seized, conveyed him back to town,
And to his bed there bound the maniac down.
A burning fever maddened in his brain,
And the hot blood flew scalding through each vein.
But light the body's to the mind's disease.
His pious friends thronged eager round to seize
His precious words, his whispered hope and bliss,
His prayer and praise:—but ah! what speech is this?
“Talk not of God and Heaven; I want them not,
Let me lie still within my grave, and rot.
Is there no rest in death, no nook where I
Down with the earthworms undisturbed may lie?
I want repose;—must all come up, and face
That sad, stern, solemn eye? must every case
Be full exposed? and will they hoot and hiss
Their fellows into hell?—O spare me this,
Keep back that angry girl!—she cannot say
The child was mine,—I own it not;—away,
Poor wretch! I did not kill thee.—Who was near?
Who saw me do it? Well but hear, Lord, hear,—
One moment more,—I own it all,—I own
I have no claim to mercy, I shewed none,—
I would not hear her pleas.—Yes, I have been
A wretch, a hypocrite, a thing obscene.—
I've knelt and breathed bold blasphemy in prayer,
Preached my own sentence, sealed my own despair;
But I have had my hell,—and is not one,
One hell enough for even what I have done?”
Such were his words. His friends stood round amazed,
By turns on him and on each other gazed;
With lifted hands, and looks of blank dismay
They heard without the power to speak or pray.
He saw them knew them not; but still he glared,
And muttered on, still struggled and despaired;
Till failed his clammy tongue, and forth at last
In one strong groan his soul to judgment passed.
Roving the open heath in strange array;
His looks were gaunt and pale, his head was bare,
And his black locks streamed loose upon the air;
He fled before them like a thing distraught,
And to their calls and queries answered nought.
At length they seized, conveyed him back to town,
And to his bed there bound the maniac down.
A burning fever maddened in his brain,
And the hot blood flew scalding through each vein.
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His pious friends thronged eager round to seize
His precious words, his whispered hope and bliss,
His prayer and praise:—but ah! what speech is this?
“Talk not of God and Heaven; I want them not,
Let me lie still within my grave, and rot.
Is there no rest in death, no nook where I
Down with the earthworms undisturbed may lie?
I want repose;—must all come up, and face
That sad, stern, solemn eye? must every case
Be full exposed? and will they hoot and hiss
Their fellows into hell?—O spare me this,
Keep back that angry girl!—she cannot say
The child was mine,—I own it not;—away,
Poor wretch! I did not kill thee.—Who was near?
Who saw me do it? Well but hear, Lord, hear,—
180
I have no claim to mercy, I shewed none,—
I would not hear her pleas.—Yes, I have been
A wretch, a hypocrite, a thing obscene.—
I've knelt and breathed bold blasphemy in prayer,
Preached my own sentence, sealed my own despair;
But I have had my hell,—and is not one,
One hell enough for even what I have done?”
Such were his words. His friends stood round amazed,
By turns on him and on each other gazed;
With lifted hands, and looks of blank dismay
They heard without the power to speak or pray.
He saw them knew them not; but still he glared,
And muttered on, still struggled and despaired;
Till failed his clammy tongue, and forth at last
In one strong groan his soul to judgment passed.
FINIS.
| Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer | |