University of Virginia Library

“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!”

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.

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

“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.

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.—

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!

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!

“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.”

“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.

“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.”

“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.

“But it is time we seek her cot again
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.

“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.

“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 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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.”