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diff --git a/8639-h/8639-h.htm b/8639-h/8639-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..979a5e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/8639-h/8639-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4844 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Robert Southey</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Robert Southey</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Southey</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 29, 2003 [eBook #8639]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 18, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jonathan Ingram, Clytie Siddall, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> + +<h1>Poems</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Robert Southey</h2> + +<h3>1799</h3> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>The better, please; the worse, displease; I ask no +more.<br/> +<br/> +Spenser</i> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Table of Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#introduction"><b>The Vision of the Maid of Orléans</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section1">Book 1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section2">Book 2</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section3">Book 3</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section4"><b>The Rose</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section5"><b>The Complaints of the Poor</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section6"><b>Metrical Letter</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section7"><b>Ballads</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section8">The Cross Roads</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section9">The Sailor who had served in the Slave Trade</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section10">Jaspar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section11">Lord William</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section12">A Ballad shewing how an old woman rode double and who rode before her</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section13">The Surgeon’s Warning</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section14">The Victory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section15">Henry the Hermit</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section16"><b>English Eclogues</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section17">The Old Mansion House</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section18">The Grandmother’s Tale</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section19">The Funeral</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section20">The Sailor’s Mother</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section21">The Witch</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#section22">The Ruined Cottage</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="introduction">The Vision of the Maid of Orléans</a></h2> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Divinity hath oftentimes descended<br/> +Upon our slumbers, and the blessed troupes<br/> +Have, in the calme and quiet of the soule,<br/> +Conversed with us.</i><br/> +<br/> +Shirley. <i>The Grateful Servant</i> +</p> + +<p> +Sidenote: The following Vision was originally printed as the ninth book of +<i>Joan of Arc</i>. It is now adapted to the improved edition of that Poem. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section1"></a>The First Book</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Orleans was hush’d in sleep. Stretch’d on her couch<br/> +The delegated Maiden lay: with toil<br/> +Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed<br/> +Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,<br/> +For busy Phantasy, in other scenes<br/> +Awakened. Whether that superior powers,<br/> +By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,<br/> +Instructing so the passive faculty;<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1" id="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a><br/> +Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog,<br/> +Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world,<br/> +And all things <i>are</i> that <i>seem</i>.<a href="#fn2" name="fnref2" id="fnref2"><sup>[2]</sup></a><br/> + Along a moor,<br/> +Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate,<br/> +She roam’d a wanderer thro’ the cheerless night.<br/> +Far thro’ the silence of the unbroken plain<br/> +The bittern’s boom was heard, hoarse, heavy, deep,<br/> +It made most fitting music to the scene.<br/> +Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,<br/> +Swept shadowing; thro’ their broken folds the moon<br/> +Struggled sometimes with transitory ray,<br/> +And made the moving darkness visible.<br/> +And now arrived beside a fenny lake<br/> +She stands: amid its stagnate waters, hoarse<br/> +The long sedge rustled to the gales of night.<br/> +An age-worn bark receives the Maid, impell’d<br/> +By powers unseen; then did the moon display<br/> +Where thro’ the crazy vessel’s yawning side<br/> +The muddy wave oozed in: a female guides,<br/> +And spreads the sail before the wind, that moan’d<br/> +As melancholy mournful to her ear,<br/> +As ever by the dungeon’d wretch was heard<br/> +Howling at evening round the embattled towers<br/> +Of that hell-house<a href="#fn3" name="fnref3" id="fnref3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> of France, ere yet sublime<br/> +The almighty people from their tyrant’s hand<br/> +Dash’d down the iron rod.<br/> +Intent the Maid<br/> +Gazed on the pilot’s form, and as she gazed<br/> +Shiver’d, for wan her face was, and her eyes<br/> +Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep,<br/> +Channell’d by tears; a few grey locks hung down<br/> +Beneath her hood: then thro’ the Maiden’s veins<br/> +Chill crept the blood, for, as the night-breeze pass’d,<br/> +Lifting her tattcr’d mantle, coil’d around<br/> +She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.<br/> + The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by,<br/> +And the night-raven’s scream came fitfully,<br/> +Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid<br/> +Look’d to the shore, and now upon the bank<br/> +Leaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling still<br/> +In recollection.<br/> + There, a mouldering pile<br/> +Stretch’d its wide ruins, o’er the plain below<br/> +Casting a gloomy shade, save where the moon<br/> +Shone thro’ its fretted windows: the dark Yew,<br/> +Withering with age, branched there its naked roots,<br/> +And there the melancholy Cypress rear’d<br/> +Its head; the earth was heav’d with many a mound,<br/> +And here and there a half-demolish’d tomb.<br/> + And now, amid the ruin’s darkest shade,<br/> +The Virgin’s eye beheld where pale blue flames<br/> +Rose wavering, now just gleaming from the earth,<br/> +And now in darkness drown’d. An aged man<br/> +Sat near, seated on what in long-past days<br/> +Had been some sculptur’d monument, now fallen<br/> +And half-obscured by moss, and gathered heaps<br/> +Of withered yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bones;<br/> +And shining in the ray was seen the track<br/> +Of slimy snail obscene. Composed his look,<br/> +His eye was large and rayless, and fix’d full<br/> +Upon the Maid; the blue flames on his face<br/> +Stream’d a pale light; his face was of the hue<br/> +Of death; his limbs were mantled in a shroud.<br/> +Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice,<br/> +Exclaim’d the Spectre, “Welcome to these realms,<br/> +These regions of Despair! O thou whose steps<br/> +By Grief conducted to these sad abodes<br/> +Have pierced; welcome, welcome to this gloom<br/> +Eternal, to this everlasting night,<br/> +Where never morning darts the enlivening ray,<br/> +Where never shines the sun, but all is dark,<br/> +Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King.”<br/> + So saying he arose, and by the hand<br/> +The Virgin seized with such a death-cold touch<br/> +As froze her very heart; and drawing on,<br/> +Her, to the abbey’s inner ruin, led<br/> +Resistless. Thro’ the broken roof the moon<br/> +Glimmer’d a scatter’d ray; the ivy twined<br/> +Round the dismantled column; imaged forms<br/> +Of Saints and warlike Chiefs, moss-canker’d now<br/> +And mutilate, lay strewn upon the ground,<br/> +With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen,<br/> +And rusted trophies; and amid the heap<br/> +Some monument’s defaced legend spake<br/> +All human glory vain.<br/> +<br/> +The loud blast roar’d<br/> +Amid the pile; and from the tower the owl<br/> +Scream’d as the tempest shook her secret nest.<br/> +He, silent, led her on, and often paus’d,<br/> +And pointed, that her eye might contemplate<br/> +At leisure the drear scene.<br/> +He dragged her on<br/> +Thro’ a low iron door, down broken stairs;<br/> +Then a cold horror thro’ the Maiden’s frame<br/> +Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw,<br/> +By the sepulchral lamp’s dim glaring light,<br/> +The fragments of the dead.<br/> +“Look here!” he cried,<br/> +“Damsel, look here! survey this house of Death;<br/> +O soon to tenant it! soon to increase<br/> +These trophies of mortality! for hence<br/> +Is no return. Gaze here! behold this skull,<br/> +These eyeless sockets, and these unflesh’d jaws,<br/> +That with their ghastly grinning, seem to mock<br/> +Thy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek<br/> +Must moulder. Child of Grief! shrinks not thy soul,<br/> +Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heart<br/> +At the dread thought, that here its life’s-blood soon<br/> +Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon<br/> +With the cold clod? a thought most horrible!<br/> +So only dreadful, for reality<br/> +Is none of suffering here; here all is peace;<br/> +No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave.<br/> +Dreadful it is to think of losing life;<br/> +But having lost, knowledge of loss is not,<br/> +Therefore no ill. Haste, Maiden, to repose;<br/> +Probe deep the seat of life.”<br/> +So spake Despair<br/> +The vaulted roof echoed his hollow voice,<br/> +And all again was silence. Quick her heart<br/> +Panted. He drew a dagger from his breast,<br/> +And cried again, “Haste Damsel to repose!<br/> +One blow, and rest for ever!” On the Fiend<br/> +Dark scowl’d the Virgin with indignant eye,<br/> +And dash’d the dagger down. He next his heart<br/> +Replaced the murderous steel, and drew the Maid<br/> +Along the downward vault.<br/> +The damp earth gave<br/> +A dim sound as they pass’d: the tainted air<br/> +Was cold, and heavy with unwholesome dews.<br/> +“Behold!” the fiend exclaim’d, “how gradual here<br/> +The fleshly burden of mortality<br/> +Moulders to clay!” then fixing his broad eye<br/> +Full on her face, he pointed where a corpse<br/> +Lay livid; she beheld with loathing look,<br/> +The spectacle abhorr’d by living man.<br/> +<br/> +“Look here!” Despair pursued, “this loathsome mass<br/> +Was once as lovely, and as full of life<br/> +As, Damsel! thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyes<br/> +Once beam’d the mild light of intelligence,<br/> +And where thou seest the pamper’d flesh-worm trail,<br/> +Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thought<br/> +That at the hallowed altar, soon the Priest<br/> +Should bless her coming union, and the torch<br/> +Its joyful lustre o’er the hall of joy,<br/> +Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth<br/> +That Priest consign’d her, and the funeral lamp<br/> +Glares on her cold face; for her lover went<br/> +By glory lur’d to war, and perish’d there;<br/> +Nor she endur’d to live. Ha! fades thy cheek?<br/> +Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale?<br/> +Look here! behold the youthful paramour!<br/> +The self-devoted hero!”<br/> +Fearfully<br/> +The Maid look’d down, and saw the well known face<br/> +Of Theodore! in thoughts unspeakable,<br/> +Convulsed with horror, o’er her face she clasp’d<br/> +Her cold damp hands: “Shrink not,” the Phantom cried,<br/> +“Gaze on! for ever gaze!” more firm he grasp’d<br/> +Her quivering arm: “this lifeless mouldering clay,<br/> +As well thou know’st, was warm with all the glow<br/> +Of Youth and Love; this is the arm that cleaved<br/> +Salisbury’s proud crest, now motionless in death,<br/> +Unable to protect the ravaged frame<br/> +From the foul Offspring of Mortality<br/> +That feed on heroes. Tho’ long years were thine,<br/> +Yet never more would life reanimate<br/> +This murdered man; murdered by thee! for thou<br/> +Didst lead him to the battle from his home,<br/> +Else living there in peace to good old age:<br/> +In thy defence he died: strike deep! destroy<br/> +Remorse with Life.”<br/> +The Maid stood motionless,<br/> +And, wistless what she did, with trembling hand<br/> +Received the dagger. Starting then, she cried,<br/> +“Avaunt Despair! Eternal Wisdom deals<br/> +Or peace to man, or misery, for his good<br/> +Alike design’d; and shall the Creature cry,<br/> +Why hast thou done this? and with impious pride<br/> +Destroy the life God gave?”<br/> +The Fiend rejoin’d,<br/> +“And thou dost deem it impious to destroy<br/> +The life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lot<br/> +Assigned to mortal man? born but to drag,<br/> +Thro’ life’s long pilgrimage, the wearying load<br/> +Of being; care corroded at the heart;<br/> +Assail’d by all the numerous train of ills<br/> +That flesh inherits; till at length worn out,<br/> +This is his consummation!—think again!<br/> +What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthen’d life<br/> +But lengthen’d sorrow? If protracted long,<br/> +Till on the bed of death thy feeble limbs<br/> +Outstretch their languid length, oh think what thoughts,<br/> +What agonizing woes, in that dread hour,<br/> +Assail the sinking heart! slow beats the pulse,<br/> +Dim grows the eye, and clammy drops bedew<br/> +The shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force,<br/> +Mightiest in impotence, the love of life<br/> +Seizes the throbbing heart, the faltering lips<br/> +Pour out the impious prayer, that fain would change<br/> +The unchangeable’s decree, surrounding friends<br/> +Sob round the sufferer, wet his cheek with tears,<br/> +And all he loved in life embitters death!<br/> +<br/> +Such, Maiden, are the pangs that wait the hour<br/> +Of calmest dissolution! yet weak man<br/> +Dares, in his timid piety, to live;<br/> +And veiling Fear in Superstition’s garb,<br/> +He calls her Resignation!<br/> +Coward wretch!<br/> +Fond Coward! thus to make his Reason war<br/> +Against his Reason! Insect as he is,<br/> +This sport of Chance, this being of a day,<br/> +Whose whole existence the next cloud may blast,<br/> +Believes himself the care of heavenly powers,<br/> +That God regards Man, miserable Man,<br/> +And preaching thus of Power and Providence,<br/> +Will crush the reptile that may cross his path!<br/> +<br/> +Fool that thou art! the Being that permits<br/> +Existence, <i>gives</i> to man the worthless boon:<br/> +A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest,<br/> +Bask in the sunshine of Prosperity,<br/> +And such do well to keep it. But to one<br/> +Sick at the heart with misery, and sore<br/> +With many a hard unmerited affliction,<br/> +It is a hair that chains to wretchedness<br/> +The slave who dares not burst it!<br/> +Thinkest thou,<br/> +The parent, if his child should unrecall’d<br/> +Return and fall upon his neck, and cry,<br/> +Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and full<br/> +Of vacant joys and heart-consuming cares,<br/> +I can be only happy in my home<br/> +With thee—my friend!—my father! Thinkest thou,<br/> +That he would thrust him as an outcast forth?<br/> +Oh I he would clasp the truant to his heart,<br/> +And love the trespass.”<br/> +Whilst he spake, his eye<br/> +Dwelt on the Maiden’s cheek, and read her soul<br/> +Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood,<br/> +Even as the wretch, whose famish’d entrails crave<br/> +Supply, before him sees the poison’d food<br/> +In greedy horror.<br/> +Yet not long the Maid<br/> +Debated, “Cease thy dangerous sophistry,<br/> +Eloquent tempter!” cried she. “Gloomy one!<br/> +What tho’ affliction be my portion here,<br/> +Think’st thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy.<br/> +Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back<br/> +Upon a life of duty well perform’d,<br/> +Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faith<br/> +Know my reward? I grant, were this life all,<br/> +Was there no morning to the tomb’s long night,<br/> +If man did mingle with the senseless clod,<br/> +Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeed<br/> +A wise and friendly comforter! But, Fiend!<br/> +There is a morning to the tomb’s long night,<br/> +A dawn of glory, a reward in Heaven,<br/> +He shall not gain who never merited.<br/> +If thou didst know the worth of one good deed<br/> +In life’s last hour, thou would’st not bid me lose<br/> +The power to benefit; if I but save<br/> +A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.<br/> +I have great duties, Fiend! me France expects,<br/> +Her heaven-doom’d Champion.”<br/> +“Maiden, thou hast done<br/> +Thy mission here,” the unbaffled Fiend replied:<br/> +“The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance<br/> +Exulting in the pride of victory,<br/> +Forgettest him who perish’d! yet albeit<br/> +Thy harden’d heart forget the gallant youth;<br/> +That hour allotted canst thou not escape,<br/> +That dreadful hour, when Contumely and Shame<br/> +Shall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid!<br/> +Destined to drain the cup of bitterness,<br/> +Even to its dregs! England’s inhuman Chiefs<br/> +Shall scoff thy sorrows, black thy spotless fame,<br/> +Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity,<br/> +And force such burning blushes to the cheek<br/> +Of Virgin modesty, that thou shalt wish<br/> +The earth might cover thee! in that last hour,<br/> +When thy bruis’d breast shall heave beneath the chains<br/> +That link thee to the stake; when o’er thy form,<br/> +Exposed unmantled, the brute multitude<br/> +Shall gaze, and thou shalt hear the ribald taunt,<br/> +More painful than the circling flames that scorch<br/> +Each quivering member; wilt thou not in vain<br/> +Then wish my friendly aid? then wish thine ear<br/> +Had drank my words of comfort? that thy hand<br/> +Had grasp’d the dagger, and in death preserved<br/> +Insulted modesty?”<br/> +Her glowing cheek<br/> +Blush’d crimson; her wide eye on vacancy<br/> +Was fix’d; her breath short panted. The cold Fiend,<br/> +Grasping her hand, exclaim’d, “too-timid Maid,<br/> +So long repugnant to the healing aid<br/> +My friendship proffers, now shalt thou behold<br/> +The allotted length of life.”<br/> +He stamp’d the earth,<br/> +And dragging a huge coffin as his car,<br/> +Two Gouls came on, of form more fearful-foul<br/> +Than ever palsied in her wildest dream<br/> +Hag-ridden Superstition. Then Despair<br/> +Seiz’d on the Maid whose curdling blood stood still.<br/> +And placed her in the seat; and on they pass’d<br/> +Adown the deep descent. A meteor light<br/> +Shot from the Daemons, as they dragg’d along<br/> +The unwelcome load, and mark’d their brethren glut<br/> +On carcasses.<br/> +Below the vault dilates<br/> +Its ample bulk. “Look here!”—Despair addrest<br/> +The shuddering Virgin, “see the dome of Death!”<br/> +It was a spacious cavern, hewn amid<br/> +The entrails of the earth, as tho’ to form<br/> +The grave of all mankind: no eye could reach,<br/> +Tho’ gifted with the Eagle’s ample ken,<br/> +Its distant bounds. There, thron’d in darkness, dwelt<br/> +The unseen Power of Death.<br/> +Here stopt the Gouls,<br/> +Reaching the destin’d spot. The Fiend leapt out,<br/> +And from the coffin, as he led the Maid,<br/> +Exclaim’d, “Where never yet stood mortal man,<br/> +Thou standest: look around this boundless vault;<br/> +Observe the dole that Nature deals to man,<br/> +And learn to know thy friend.”<br/> +She not replied,<br/> +Observing where the Fates their several tasks<br/> +Plied ceaseless. “Mark how short the longest web<br/> +Allowed to man! he cried; observe how soon,<br/> +Twin’d round yon never-resting wheel, they change<br/> +Their snowy hue, darkening thro’ many a shade,<br/> +Till Atropos relentless shuts the sheers!”<br/> +<br/> +Too true he spake, for of the countless threads,<br/> +Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunn’d snow,<br/> +Or as the lovely lilly of the vale,<br/> +Was never one beyond the little span<br/> +Of infancy untainted: few there were<br/> +But lightly tinged; more of deep crimson hue,<br/> +Or deeper sable died.<a href="#fn4" name="fnref4" id="fnref4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> Two Genii stood,<br/> +Still as the web of Being was drawn forth,<br/> +Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn,<br/> +The one unsparing dash’d the bitter wave<br/> +Of woe; and as he dash’d, his dark-brown brow<br/> +Relax’d to a hard smile. The milder form<br/> +Shed less profusely there his lesser store;<br/> +Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon,<br/> +Mourning the lot of man; and happy he<br/> +Who on his thread those precious drops receives;<br/> +If it be happiness to have the pulse<br/> +Throb fast with pity, and in such a world<br/> +Of wretchedness, the generous heart that aches<br/> +With anguish at the sight of human woe.<br/> +<br/> +To her the Fiend, well hoping now success,<br/> +“This is thy thread! observe how short the span,<br/> +And see how copious yonder Genius pours<br/> +The bitter stream of woe.” The Maiden saw<br/> +Fearless. “Now gaze!” the tempter Fiend exclaim’d,<br/> +And placed again the poniard in her hand,<br/> +For Superstition, with sulphureal torch<br/> +Stalk’d to the loom. “This, Damsel, is thy fate!<br/> +The hour draws on—now drench the dagger deep!<br/> +Now rush to happier worlds!”<br/> +The Maid replied,<br/> +“Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven,<br/> +Impious I strive not: be that will perform’d!” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1" id="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> +May says of Serapis,<br/> +“Erudit at placide humanam per somnia mentem,<br/> +Nocturnâque quiete docet; nulloque labore<br/> +Hic tantum parta est pretiosa scientia, nullo<br/> +Excutitur studio verum. Mortalia corda<br/> +Tunc Deus iste docet, cum sunt minus apta doceri,<br/> +Cum nullum obsequium præstant, meritisque fatentur<br/> +Nil sese debere suis; tunc recta scientes<br/> +Cum nil scire valent. Non illo tempore sensus<br/> +Humanos forsan dignatur numen inire,<br/> +Cum propriis possunt per se discursibus uti,<br/> +Ne forte humanâ ratio divina coiret.”—<i>Sup Lucani</i>. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn2" id="fn2"></a> <a href="#fnref2">[2]</a> +I have met with a singular tale to illustrate this spiritual theory of +dreams.<br/> + Guntram, King of the Franks, was liberal to the poor, and he himself +experienced the wonderful effects of divine liberality. For one day as he was +hunting in a forest he was separated from his companions and arrived at a +little stream of water with only one comrade of tried and approved fidelity. +Here he found himself opprest by drowsiness, and reclining his head upon the +servant’s lap went to sleep. The servant witnessed a wonderful thing, for +he saw a little beast (<i>bestiolam</i>) creep out of the mouth of his sleeping +master, and go immediately to the streamlet, which it vainly attempted to +cross. The servant drew his sword and laid it across the water, over which the +little beast easily past and crept into a hole of a mountain on the opposite +side; from whence it made its appearance again in an hour, and returned by the +same means into the King’s mouth. The King then awakened, and told his +companion that he had dreamt that he was arrived upon the bank of an immense +river, which he had crossed by a bridge of iron, and from thence came to a +mountain in which a great quantity of gold was concealed. When the King had +concluded, the servant related what he had beheld, and they both went to +examine the mountain, where upon digging they discovered an immense weight of +gold.<br/> + I stumbled upon this tale in a book entitled SPHINX +<i>Theologico-Philosophica. Authore Johanne Heidfeldio, Ecclesiaste +Ebersbachiano.</i> 1621.<br/> + The same story is in Matthew of Westminster; it is added that Guntram +applied the treasures thus found to pious uses.<br/> + For the truth of this theory there is the evidence of a Monkish miracle. +When Thurcillus was about to follow St. Julian and visit the world of souls, +his guide said to him, “let thy body rest in the bed for thy spirit only +is about to depart with me; and lest the body should appear dead, I will send +into it a vital breath.”<br/> + The body however by a strange sympathy was affected like the spirit; for +when the foul and fetid smoke that arose from tithes witheld, had nearly +suffocated Thurcillus, and made him cough twice, those who were near his body +said that it coughed twice about the same time.<br/> +<br/> + <i>Matthew Paris</i> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn3" id="fn3"></a> <a href="#fnref3">[3]</a> +The Bastille. The expression is in one of Fuller’s works, an Author from +whose quaintness and ingenuity I have always found amusement, and sometimes +assistance +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn4" id="fn4"></a> <a href="#fnref4">[4]</a> +These lines strongly resemble a passage in the <i>Pharonnida</i> of William +Chamberlayne, a Poet who has told an interesting story in uncouth rhymes, and +mingled sublimity of thought and beauty of expression, with the quaintest +conceits, and most awkward inversions.<br/> +<br/> +On a rock more high<br/> +Than Nature’s common surface, she beholds<br/> +The Mansion house of Fate, which thus unfolds<br/> +Its sacred mysteries. A trine within<br/> +A quadrate placed, both these encompast in<br/> +A perfect circle was its form; but what<br/> +Its matter was, for us to wonder at,<br/> +Is undiscovered left. A Tower there stands<br/> +At every angle, where Time’s fatal hands<br/> +The impartial Parcæ dwell; i’ the first she sees<br/> +Clotho the kindest of the Destinies,<br/> +From immaterial essences to cull<br/> +The seeds of life, and of them frame the wool<br/> +For Lachesis to spin; about her flie<br/> +Myriads of souls, that yet want flesh to lie<br/> +Warm’d with their functions in, whose strength bestows<br/> +That power by which man ripe for misery grows.<br/> +<br/> +Her next of objects was that glorious tower<br/> +Where that swift-fingered Nymph that spares no hour<br/> +From mortals’ service, draws the various threads<br/> +Of life in several lengths; to weary beds<br/> +Of age extending some, whilst others in<br/> +Their infancy are broke: <i>some blackt in sin,<br/> +Others, the favorites of Heaven, from whence<br/> +Their origin, candid with innocence;<br/> +Some purpled in afflictions, others dyed<br/> +In sanguine pleasures</i>: some in glittering pride<br/> +Spun to adorn the earth, whilst others wear<br/> +Rags of deformity, but knots of care<br/> +No thread was wholly free from. Next to this<br/> +Fair glorious tower, was placed that black abyss<br/> +Of dreadful Atropos, the baleful seat<br/> +Of death and horrour, in each room repleat<br/> +With lazy damps, loud groans, and the sad sight<br/> +Of pale grim Ghosts, those terrours of the night.<br/> +To this, the last stage that the winding clew<br/> +Of Life can lead mortality unto,<br/> +Fear was the dreadful Porter, which let in<br/> +All guests sent thither by destructive sin.<br/> +<br/> +It is possible that I may have written from the recollection of this passage. +The conceit is the same, and I willingly attribute it to Chamberlayne, a Poet +to whom I am indebted for many hours of delight, and whom I one day hope to +rescue from undeserved oblivion. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section2"></a>The Second Book</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +She spake, and lo! celestial radiance beam’d<br/> +Amid the air, such odors wafting now<br/> +As erst came blended with the evening gale,<br/> +From Eden’s bowers of bliss. An angel form<br/> +Stood by the Maid; his wings, etherial white,<br/> +Flash’d like the diamond in the noon-tide sun,<br/> +Dazzling her mortal eye: all else appear’d<br/> +Her Theodore.<br/> + Amazed she saw: the Fiend<br/> +Was fled, and on her ear the well-known voice<br/> +Sounded, tho’ now more musically sweet<br/> +Than ever yet had thrill’d her charmed soul,<br/> +When eloquent Affection fondly told<br/> +The day-dreams of delight.<br/> + “Beloved Maid!<br/> +Lo! I am with thee! still thy Theodore!<br/> +Hearts in the holy bands of Love combin’d,<br/> +Death has no power to sever. Thou art mine!<br/> +A little while and thou shalt dwell with me<br/> +In scenes where Sorrow is not. Cheerily<br/> +Tread thou the path that leads thee to the grave,<br/> +Rough tho’ it be and painful, for the grave<br/> +Is but the threshold of Eternity.<br/> + Favour’d of Heaven! to thee is given to view<br/> +These secret realms. The bottom of the abyss<br/> +Thou treadest, Maiden! Here the dungeons are<br/> +Where bad men learn repentance; souls diseased<br/> +Must have their remedy; and where disease<br/> +Is rooted deep, the remedy is long<br/> +Perforce, and painful.”<br/> + Thus the Spirit spake,<br/> +And led the Maid along a narrow path,<br/> +Dark gleaming to the light of far-off flames,<br/> +More dread than darkness. Soon the distant sound<br/> +Of clanking anvils, and the lengthened breath<br/> +Provoking fire are heard: and now they reach<br/> +A wide expanded den where all around<br/> +Tremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,<br/> +Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stood<br/> +The meagre form of Care, and as he blew<br/> +To augment the fire, the fire augmented scorch’d<br/> +His wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thus<br/> +He toil’d and toil’d, of toil to reap no end<br/> +But endless toil and never-ending woe.<br/> + An aged man went round the infernal vault,<br/> +Urging his workmen to their ceaseless task:<br/> +White were his locks, as is the wintry snow<br/> +On hoar Plinlimmon’s head. A golden staff<br/> +His steps supported; powerful talisman,<br/> +Which whoso feels shall never feel again<br/> +The tear of Pity, or the throb of Love.<br/> +Touch’d but by this, the massy gates give way,<br/> +The buttress trembles, and the guarded wall,<br/> +Guarded in vain, submits. Him heathens erst<br/> +Had deified, and bowed the suppliant knee<br/> +To Plutus. Nor are now his votaries few,<br/> +Tho’ he the Blessed Teacher of mankind<br/> +Hath said, that easier thro’ the needle’s eye<br/> +Shall the huge camel pass,<a href="#fn5" name="fnref5" id="fnref5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> than the rich man<br/> +Enter the gates of heaven. “Ye cannot serve<br/> +Your God, and worship Mammon.”<br/> +“Missioned Maid!”<br/> +So spake the Angel, “know that these, whose hands<br/> +Round each white furnace ply the unceasing toil,<br/> +Were Mammon’s slaves on earth. They did not spare<br/> +To wring from Poverty the hard-earn’d mite,<br/> +They robb’d the orphan’s pittance, they could see<br/> +Want’s asking eye unmoved; and therefore these,<br/> +Ranged round the furnace, still must persevere<br/> +In Mammon’s service; scorched by these fierce fires,<br/> +And frequent deluged by the o’erboiling ore:<br/> +Yet still so framed, that oft to quench their thirst<br/> +Unquenchable, large draughts of molten gold<a href="#fn6" name="fnref6" id="fnref6"><sup>[6]</sup></a><br/> +They drink insatiate, still with pain renewed,<br/> +Pain to destroy.”<br/> +So saying, her he led<br/> +Forth from the dreadful cavern to a cell,<br/> +Brilliant with gem-born light. The rugged walls<br/> +Part gleam’d with gold, and part with silver ore<br/> +A milder radiance shone. The Carbuncle<br/> +There its strong lustre like the flamy sun<br/> +Shot forth irradiate; from the earth beneath,<br/> +And from the roof a diamond light emits;<br/> +Rubies and amethysts their glows commix’d<br/> +With the gay topaz, and the softer ray<br/> +Shot from the sapphire, and the emerald’s hue,<br/> +And bright pyropus.<br/> +There on golden seats,<br/> +A numerous, sullen, melancholy train<br/> +Sat silent. “Maiden, these,” said Theodore,<br/> +Are they who let the love of wealth absorb<br/> +All other passions; in their souls that vice<br/> +Struck deeply-rooted, like the poison-tree<br/> +That with its shade spreads barrenness around.<br/> +These, Maid! were men by no atrocious crime<br/> +Blacken’d, no fraud, nor ruffian violence:<br/> +Men of fair dealing, and respectable<br/> +On earth, but such as only for themselves<br/> +Heap’d up their treasures, deeming all their wealth<br/> +Their own, and given to them, by partial Heaven,<br/> +To bless them only: therefore here they sit,<br/> +Possessed of gold enough, and by no pain<br/> +Tormented, save the knowledge of the bliss<br/> +They lost, and vain repentance. Here they dwell,<br/> +Loathing these useless treasures, till the hour<br/> +Of general restitution.”<br/> +Thence they past,<br/> +And now arrived at such a gorgeous dome,<br/> +As even the pomp of Eastern opulence<br/> +Could never equal: wandered thro’ its halls<br/> +A numerous train; some with the red-swoln eye<br/> +Of riot, and intemperance-bloated cheek;<br/> +Some pale and nerveless, and with feeble step,<br/> +And eyes lack-lustre.<br/> +Maiden? said her guide,<br/> +These are the wretched slaves of Appetite,<br/> +Curst with their wish enjoyed. The epicure<br/> +Here pampers his foul frame, till the pall’d sense<br/> +Loaths at the banquet; the voluptuous here<br/> +Plunge in the tempting torrent of delight,<br/> +And sink in misery. All they wish’d on earth,<br/> +Possessing here, whom have they to accuse,<br/> +But their own folly, for the lot they chose?<br/> +Yet, for that these injured themselves alone,<br/> +They to the house of Penitence may hie,<br/> +And, by a long and painful regimen,<br/> +To wearied Nature her exhausted powers<br/> +Restore, till they shall learn to form the wish<br/> +Of wisdom, and Almighty Goodness grants<br/> +That prize to him who seeks it.”<br/> +Whilst he spake,<br/> +The board is spread. With bloated paunch, and eye<br/> +Fat swoln, and legs whose monstrous size disgraced<br/> +The human form divine, their caterer,<br/> +Hight Gluttony, set forth the smoaking feast.<br/> +And by his side came on a brother form,<br/> +With fiery cheek of purple hue, and red<br/> +And scurfy-white, mix’d motley; his gross bulk,<br/> +Like some huge hogshead shapen’d, as applied.<br/> +Him had antiquity with mystic rites<br/> +Ador’d, to him the sons of Greece, and thine<br/> +Imperial Rome, on many an altar pour’d<br/> +The victim blood, with godlike titles graced,<br/> +Bacchus, or Dionusus; son of Jove,<br/> +Deem’d falsely, for from Folly’s ideot form<br/> +He sprung, what time Madness, with furious hand,<br/> +Seiz’d on the laughing female. At one birth<br/> +She brought the brethren, menial here, above<br/> +Reigning with sway supreme, and oft they hold<br/> +High revels: mid the Monastery’s gloom,<br/> +The sacrifice is spread, when the grave voice<br/> +Episcopal, proclaims approaching day<br/> +Of visitation, or Churchwardens meet<br/> +To save the wretched many from the gripe<br/> +Of eager Poverty, or mid thy halls<br/> +Of London, mighty Mayor! rich Aldermen,<br/> +Of coming feast hold converse.<br/> +Otherwhere,<br/> +For tho’ allied in nature as in blood,<br/> +They hold divided sway, his brother lifts<br/> +His spungy sceptre. In the noble domes<br/> +Of Princes, and state-wearied Ministers,<br/> +Maddening he reigns; and when the affrighted mind<br/> +Casts o’er a long career of guilt and blood<br/> +Its eye reluctant, then his aid is sought<br/> +To lull the worm of Conscience to repose.<br/> +He too the halls of country Squires frequents,<br/> +But chiefly loves the learned gloom that shades<br/> +Thy offspring Rhedycina! and thy walls,<br/> +Granta! nightly libations there to him<br/> +Profuse are pour’d, till from the dizzy brain<br/> +Triangles, Circles, Parallelograms,<br/> +Moods, Tenses, Dialects, and Demigods,<br/> +And Logic and Theology are swept<br/> +By the red deluge.<br/> +Unmolested there<br/> +He reigns; till comes at length the general feast,<br/> +Septennial sacrifice; then when the sons<br/> +Of England meet, with watchful care to chuse<br/> +Their delegates, wise, independent men,<br/> +Unbribing and unbrib’d, and cull’d to guard<br/> +Their rights and charters from the encroaching grasp<br/> +Of greedy Power: then all the joyful land<br/> +Join in his sacrifices, so inspir’d<br/> +To make the important choice.<br/> +The observing Maid<br/> +Address’d her guide, “These Theodore, thou sayest<br/> +Are men, who pampering their foul appetites,<br/> +Injured themselves alone. But where are they,<br/> +The worst of villains, viper-like, who coil<br/> +Around the guileless female, so to sting<br/> +The heart that loves them?”<br/> +“Them,” the spirit replied,<br/> +A long and dreadful punishment awaits.<br/> +For when the prey of want and infamy,<br/> +Lower and lower still the victim sinks,<br/> +Even to the depth of shame, not one lewd word,<br/> +One impious imprecation from her lips<br/> +Escapes, nay not a thought of evil lurks<br/> +In the polluted mind, that does not plead<br/> +Before the throne of Justice, thunder-tongued<br/> +Against the foul Seducer.”<br/> +Now they reach’d<br/> +The house of Penitence. Credulity<br/> +Stood at the gate, stretching her eager head<br/> +As tho’ to listen; on her vacant face,<br/> +A smile that promis’d premature assent;<br/> +Tho’ her Regret behind, a meagre Fiend,<br/> +Disciplin’d sorely.<br/> +Here they entered in,<br/> +And now arrived where, as in study tranced,<br/> +She sat, the Mistress of the Dome. Her face<br/> +Spake that composed severity, that knows<br/> +No angry impulse, no weak tenderness,<br/> +Resolved and calm. Before her lay that Book<br/> +That hath the words of Life; and as she read,<br/> +Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek,<br/> +Tho’ heavenly joy beam’d in her eye the while.<br/> +Leaving her undisturb’d, to the first ward<br/> +Of this great Lazar-house, the Angel led<br/> +The favour’d Maid of Orleans. Kneeling down<br/> +On the hard stone that their bare knees had worn,<br/> +In sackcloth robed, a numerous train appear’d:<br/> +Hard-featured some, and some demurely grave;<br/> +Yet such expression stealing from the eye,<br/> +As tho’, that only naked, all the rest<br/> +Was one close fitting mask. A scoffing Fiend,<br/> +For Fiend he was, tho’ wisely serving here<br/> +Mock’d at his patients, and did often pour<br/> +Ashes upon them, and then bid them say<br/> +Their prayers aloud, and then he louder laughed:<br/> +For these were Hypocrites, on earth revered<br/> +As holy ones, who did in public tell<br/> +Their beads, and make long prayers, and cross themselves,<br/> +And call themselves most miserable sinners,<br/> +That so they might be deem’d most pious saints;<br/> +And go all filth, and never let a smile<br/> +Bend their stern muscles, gloomy, sullen men,<br/> +Barren of all affection, and all this<br/> +To please their God, forsooth! and therefore Scorn<br/> +Grinn’d at his patients, making them repeat<br/> +Their solemn farce, with keenest raillery<br/> +Tormenting; but if earnest in their prayer,<br/> +They pour’d the silent sorrows of the soul<br/> +To Heaven, then did they not regard his mocks<br/> +Which then came painless, and Humility<br/> +Soon rescued them, and led to Penitence,<br/> +That She might lead to Heaven.<br/> +From thence they came,<br/> +Where, in the next ward, a most wretched band<br/> +Groan’d underneath the bitter tyranny<br/> +Of a fierce Daemon. His coarse hair was red,<br/> +Pale grey his eyes, and blood-shot; and his face<br/> +Wrinkled by such a smile as Malice wears<br/> +In ecstacy. Well-pleased he went around,<br/> +Plunging his dagger in the hearts of some,<br/> +Or probing with a poison’d lance their breasts,<br/> +Or placing coals of fire within their wounds;<br/> +Or seizing some within his mighty grasp,<br/> +He fix’d them on a stake, and then drew back,<br/> +And laugh’d to see them writhe.<br/> +“These,” said the Spirit,<br/> +Are taught by Cruelty, to loath the lives<br/> +They led themselves. Here are those wicked men<br/> +Who loved to exercise their tyrant power<br/> +On speechless brutes; bad husbands undergo<br/> +A long purgation here; the traffickers<br/> +In human flesh here too are disciplined.<br/> +Till by their suffering they have equall’d all<br/> +The miseries they inflicted, all the mass<br/> +Of wretchedness caused by the wars they waged,<br/> +The towns they burnt, for they who bribe to war<br/> +Are guilty of the blood, the widows left<br/> +In want, the slave or led to suicide,<br/> +Or murdered by the foul infected air<br/> +Of his close dungeon, or more sad than all,<br/> +His virtue lost, his very soul enslaved,<br/> +And driven by woe to wickedness.<br/> +These next,<br/> +Whom thou beholdest in this dreary room,<br/> +So sullen, and with such an eye of hate<br/> +Each on the other scowling, these have been<br/> +False friends. Tormented by their own dark thoughts<br/> +Here they dwell: in the hollow of their hearts<br/> +There is a worm that feeds, and tho’ thou seest<br/> +That skilful leech who willingly would heal<br/> +The ill they suffer, judging of all else<br/> +By their own evil standard, they suspect<br/> +The aid be vainly proffers, lengthening thus<br/> +By vice its punishment.”<br/> +“But who are these,”<br/> +The Maid exclaim’d, “that robed in flowing lawn,<br/> +And mitred, or in scarlet, and in caps<br/> +Like Cardinals, I see in every ward,<br/> +Performing menial service at the beck<br/> +Of all who bid them?”<br/> +Theodore replied,<br/> +These men are they who in the name of CHRIST<br/> +Did heap up wealth, and arrogating power,<br/> +Did make men bow the knee, and call themselves<br/> +Most Reverend Graces and Right Reverend Lords.<br/> +They dwelt in palaces, in purple clothed,<br/> +And in fine linen: therefore are they here;<br/> +And tho’ they would not minister on earth,<br/> +Here penanced they perforce must minister:<br/> +For he, the lowly man of Nazareth,<br/> +Hath said, his kingdom is not of the world.”<br/> +So Saying on they past, and now arrived<br/> +Where such a hideous ghastly groupe abode,<br/> +That the Maid gazed with half-averting eye,<br/> +And shudder’d: each one was a loathly corpse,<br/> +The worm did banquet on his putrid prey,<br/> +Yet had they life and feeling exquisite<br/> +Tho’ motionless and mute.<br/> +“Most wretched men<br/> +Are these, the angel cried. These, Joan, are bards,<br/> +Whose loose lascivious lays perpetuate<br/> +Who sat them down, deliberately lewd,<br/> +So to awake and pamper lust in minds<br/> +Unborn; and therefore foul of body now<br/> +As then they were of soul, they here abide<br/> +Long as the evil works they left on earth<br/> +Shall live to taint mankind. A dreadful doom!<br/> +Yet amply merited by that bad man<br/> +Who prostitutes the sacred gift of song!”<br/> +And now they reached a huge and massy pile,<br/> +Massy it seem’d, and yet in every blast<br/> +As to its ruin shook. There, porter fit,<br/> +Remorse for ever his sad vigils kept.<br/> +Pale, hollow-eyed, emaciate, sleepless wretch.<br/> +Inly he groan’d, or, starting, wildly shriek’d,<br/> +Aye as the fabric tottering from its base,<br/> +Threatened its fall, and so expectant still<br/> +Lived in the dread of danger still delayed.<br/> +They enter’d there a large and lofty dome,<br/> +O’er whose black marble sides a dim drear light<br/> +Struggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp.<br/> +Enthroned around, the Murderers of Mankind,<br/> +Monarchs, the great! the glorious! the august!<br/> +Each bearing on his brow a crown of fire,<br/> +Sat stern and silent. Nimrod he was there,<br/> +First King the mighty hunter; and that Chief<br/> +Who did belie his mother’s fame, that so<br/> +He might be called young Ammon. In this court<br/> +Cæsar was crown’d, accurst liberticide;<br/> +And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain,<br/> +Octavius, tho’ the courtly minion’s lyre<br/> +Hath hymn’d his praise, tho’ Maro sung to him,<br/> +And when Death levelled to original clay<br/> +The royal carcase, Flattery, fawning low,<br/> +Fell at his feet, and worshipped the new God.<br/> +Titus was here,<a href="#fn7" name="fnref7" id="fnref7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> the Conqueror of the Jews,<br/> +He the Delight of human-kind misnamed;<br/> +Cæsars and Soldans, Emperors and Kings,<br/> +Here they were all, all who for glory fought,<br/> +Here in the Court of Glory reaping now<br/> +The meed they merited.<br/> +As gazing round<br/> +The Virgin mark’d the miserable train,<br/> +A deep and hollow voice from one went forth;<br/> +“Thou who art come to view our punishment,<br/> +Maiden of Orleans! hither turn thine eyes,<br/> +For I am he whose bloody victories<br/> +Thy power hath rendered vain. Lo! I am here,<br/> +The hero conqueror of Azincour,<br/> +Henry of England!—wretched that I am,<br/> +I might have reigned in happiness and peace,<br/> +My coffers full, my subjects undisturb’d,<br/> +And Plenty and Prosperity had loved<br/> +To dwell amongst them: but mine eye beheld<br/> +The realm of France, by faction tempest-torn,<br/> +And therefore I did think that it would fall<br/> +An easy prey. I persecuted those<br/> +Who taught new doctrines, tho’ they taught the truth:<br/> +And when I heard of thousands by the sword<br/> +Cut off, or blasted by the pestilence,<br/> +I calmly counted up my proper gains,<br/> +And sent new herds to slaughter. Temperate<br/> +Myself, no blood that mutinied, no vice<br/> +Tainting my private life, I sent abroad<br/> +Murder and Rape; and therefore am I doom’d,<br/> +Like these imperial Sufferers, crown’d with fire,<br/> +Here to remain, till Man’s awaken’d eye<br/> +Shall see the genuine blackness of our deeds,<br/> +And warn’d by them, till the whole human race,<br/> +Equalling in bliss the aggregate we caus’d<br/> +Of wretchedness, shall form One Brotherhood,<br/> +One Universal Family of Love.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn5" id="fn5"></a> <a href="#fnref5">[5]</a> +In the former edition I had substituted <i>cable</i> instead of <i>camel</i>. +The alteration would not be worth noticing were it not for the circumstance +which occasioned it. <i>Facilius elephas per foramen acus</i>, is among the +Hebrew adages collected by Drusius; the same metaphor is found in two other +Jewish proverbs, and this appears to determine the signification of +καμηλος Matt. 19. 24. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn6" id="fn6"></a> <a href="#fnref6">[6]</a> +The same idea, and almost the same words are in an old play by John Ford. The +passage is a very fine one:<br/> +<br/> +Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretched,<br/> +Almost condemn’d alive! There is a place,<br/> +(List daughter!) in a black and hollow vault,<br/> +Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,<br/> +But flaming horror of consuming fires;<br/> +A lightless sulphur, choak’d with smoaky foggs<br/> +Of an infected darkness. In this place<br/> +Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts<br/> +Of never-dying deaths; there damned souls<br/> +Roar without pity, there are gluttons fed<br/> +With toads and adders; there is burning oil<br/> +Pour’d down the drunkard’s throat, <i>the usurer<br/> +Is forced to sup whole draughts of molten gold</i>;<br/> +There is the murderer for ever stabb’d,<br/> +Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton<br/> +On racks of burning steel, whilst in his soul<br/> +He feels the torment of his raging lust.<br/> +<br/> +<i>(’Tis Pity she’s a Whore.)</i><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +I wrote this passage when very young, and the idea, trite as it is, was new to +me. It occurs I believe in most descriptions of hell, and perhaps owes its +origin to the fate of Crassus.<br/> + After this picture of horrors, the reader may perhaps be pleased with one +more pleasantly fanciful:<br/> +<br/> +O call me home again dear Chief! and put me<br/> +To yoking foxes, milking of he-goats,<br/> +Pounding of water in a mortar, laving<br/> +The sea dry with a nutshell, gathering all<br/> +The leaves are fallen this autumn—making ropes of sand,<br/> +Catching the winds together in a net,<br/> +Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms, all<br/> +That Hell and you thought exquisite torments, rather<br/> +Than stay me here a thought more. I would sooner<br/> +Keep fleas within a circle, and be accomptant<br/> +A thousand year which of ’em, and how far<br/> +Outleap’d the other, than endure a minute<br/> +Such as I have within.<br/> +<br/> +(B. Jonson. <i>The Devil is an Ass.)</i> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn7" id="fn7"></a> <a href="#fnref7">[7]</a> +During the siege of Jerusalem, “the Roman commander, <i>with a generous +clemency, that inseparable attendant on true heroism,</i> laboured incessantly, +and to the very last moment, to preserve the place. With this view, he again +and again intreated the tyrants to surrender and save their lives. With the +same view also, after carrying the second wall the siege was intermitted four +days: to rouse their fears, <i>prisoners, to the number of five hundred, or +more were crucified daily before the walls; till space</i>, Josephus says, +<i>was wanting for the crosses, and crosses for the +captives</i>.”—<i>Churton’s Bampton Lectures</i>.<br/> + If any of my readers should enquire why Titus Vespasian, the Delight of +Mankind, is placed in such a situation,—I answer, for this instance of +<i>“his generous clemency, that inseparable attendant on true +heroism!”</i> +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section3"></a>The Third Book</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The Maiden, musing on the Warrior’s words,<br/> +Turn’d from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach’d<br/> +A cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood,<br/> +In front a beardless youth, whose smiling eye<br/> +Beam’d promise, but behind, withered and old,<br/> +And all unlovely. Underneath his feet<br/> +Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreath<br/> +Now rent and faded: in his hand he held<br/> +An hour-glass, and as fall the restless sands,<br/> +So pass the lives of men. By him they past<br/> +Along the darksome cave, and reach’d a stream,<br/> +Still rolling onward its perpetual waves,<br/> +Noiseless and undisturbed. Here they ascend<br/> +A Bark unpiloted, that down the flood,<br/> +Borne by the current, rush’d. The circling stream,<br/> +Returning to itself, an island form’d;<br/> +Nor had the Maiden’s footsteps ever reach’d<br/> +The insulated coast, eternally<br/> +Rapt round the endless course; but Theodore<br/> +Drove with an angel’s will the obedient bark.<br/> +<br/> +They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes,<br/> +Seen by its gem-born light. Of adamant<br/> +The pile was framed, for ever to abide<br/> +Firm in eternal strength. Before the gate<br/> +Stood eager Expectation, as to list<br/> +The half-heard murmurs issuing from within,<br/> +Her mouth half-open’d, and her head stretch’d forth.<br/> +On the other side there stood an aged Crone,<br/> +Listening to every breath of air; she knew<br/> +Vague suppositions and uncertain dreams,<br/> +Of what was soon to come, for she would mark<br/> +The paley glow-worm’s self-created light,<br/> +And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,<br/> +And desolated nations; ever fill’d<br/> +With undetermin’d terror, as she heard<br/> +Or distant screech-owl, or the regular beat<br/> +Of evening death-watch.<br/> +“Maid,” the Spirit cried,<br/> +Here, robed in shadows, dwells Futurity.<br/> +There is no eye hath seen her secret form,<br/> +For round the Mother of Time, unpierced mists<br/> +Aye hover. Would’st thou read the book of Fate,<br/> +Enter.”<br/> +The Damsel for a moment paus’d,<br/> +Then to the Angel spake: “All-gracious Heaven!<br/> +Benignant in withholding, hath denied<br/> +To man that knowledge. I, in faith assured,<br/> +That he, my heavenly Father, for the best<br/> +Ordaineth all things, in that faith remain<br/> +Contented.”<br/> +“Well and wisely hast thou said,<br/> +So Theodore replied; “and now O Maid!<br/> +Is there amid this boundless universe<br/> +One whom thy soul would visit? is there place<br/> +To memory dear, or visioned out by hope,<br/> +Where thou would’st now be present? form the wish,<br/> +And I am with thee, there.”<br/> +His closing speech<br/> +Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood<br/> +Swift as the sudden thought that guided them,<br/> +Within the little cottage that she loved.<br/> +“He sleeps! the good man sleeps!” enrapt she cried,<br/> +As bending o’er her Uncle’s lowly bed<br/> +Her eye retraced his features. “See the beads<br/> +That never morn nor night he fails to tell,<br/> +Remembering me, his child, in every prayer.<br/> +Oh! quiet be thy sleep, thou dear old man!<br/> +Good Angels guard thy rest! and when thine hour<br/> +Is come, as gently mayest thou wake to life,<br/> +As when thro’ yonder lattice the next sun<br/> +Shall bid thee to thy morning orisons!<br/> +Thy voice is heard, the Angel guide rejoin’d,<br/> +He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee breathe<br/> +Blessings, and pleasant is the good man’s rest.<br/> +Thy fame has reached him, for who has not heard<br/> +Thy wonderous exploits? and his aged heart<br/> +Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet<br/> +Made his glad blood flow fast. Sleep on old Claude!<br/> +Peaceful, pure Spirit, be thy sojourn here,<br/> +And short and soon thy passage to that world<br/> +Where friends shall part no more!<br/> +“Does thy soul own<br/> +No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon<br/> +Forgotten in her grave? seest thou yon star,”<br/> +The Spirit pursued, regardless of her eye<br/> +That look’d reproach; “seest thou that evening star<br/> +Whose lovely light so often we beheld<br/> +From yonder woodbine porch? how have we gazed<br/> +Into the dark deep sky, till the baffled soul,<br/> +Lost in the infinite, returned, and felt<br/> +The burthen of her bodily load, and yearned<br/> +For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening slar<br/> +Lives thy departed friend. I read that glance,<br/> +And we are there!”<br/> +He said and they had past<br/> +The immeasurable space.<br/> +Then on her ear<br/> +The lonely song of adoration rose,<br/> +Sweet as the cloister’d virgins vesper hymn,<br/> +Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly hopes<br/> +Already lives in Heaven. Abrupt the song<br/> +Ceas’d, tremulous and quick a cry<br/> +Of joyful wonder rous’d the astonish’d Maid,<br/> +And instant Madelon was in her arms;<br/> +No airy form, no unsubstantial shape,<br/> +She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart,<br/> +Their tears of rapture mingled.<br/> +She drew back<br/> +And eagerly she gazed on Madelon,<br/> +Then fell upon her neck again and wept.<br/> +No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief,<br/> +The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness,<br/> +The languid eye: youth’s loveliest freshness now<br/> +Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament<br/> +Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm,<br/> +A deep and full tranquillity of bliss.<br/> +<br/> +“Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!”<br/> +The well known voice of Madelon began,<br/> +“Thou then art come! and was thy pilgrimage<br/> +So short on earth? and was it painful too,<br/> +Painful and short as mine? but blessed they<br/> +Who from the crimes and miseries of the world<br/> +Early escape!”<br/> +“Nay,” Theodore replied,<br/> +She hath not yet fulfill’d her mortal work.<br/> +Permitted visitant from earth she comes<br/> +To see the seat of rest, and oftentimes<br/> +In sorrow shall her soul remember this,<br/> +And patient of the transitory woe<br/> +Partake the anticipated peace again.”<br/> +“Soon be that work perform’d!” the Maid exclaimed,<br/> +“O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul,<br/> +Spurning the cold communion of the world,<br/> +Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently,<br/> +Yea even with joy, endure the allotted ills<br/> +Of which the memory in this better state<br/> +Shall heighten bliss. That hour of agony,<br/> +When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp,<br/> +And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death,<br/> +The very horrors of that hour assume<br/> +A shape that now delights.”<br/> +“O earliest friend!<br/> +I too remember,” Madelon replied,<br/> +“That hour, thy looks of watchful agony,<br/> +The suppressed grief that struggled in thine eye<br/> +Endearing love’s last kindness. Thou didst know<br/> +With what a deep and melancholy joy<br/> +I felt the hour draw on: but who can speak<br/> +The unutterable transport, when mine eyes,<br/> +As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed<br/> +Amid this peaceful vale, unclos’d on him,<br/> +My Arnaud! he had built me up a bower,<br/> +A bower of rest.—See, Maiden, where he comes,<br/> +His manly lineaments, his beaming eye<br/> +The same, but now a holier innocence<br/> +Sits on his cheek, and loftier thoughts illume<br/> +The enlighten’d glance.”<br/> +They met, what joy was theirs<br/> +He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead<br/> +Has wet the midnight pillow with his tears.<br/> +<br/> + Fair was the scene around; an ample vale<br/> +Whose mountain circle at the distant verge<br/> +Lay softened on the sight; the near ascent<br/> +Rose bolder up, in part abrupt and bare,<br/> +Part with the ancient majesty of woods<br/> +Adorn’d, or lifting high its rocks sublime.<br/> +The river’s liquid radiance roll’d beneath,<br/> +Beside the bower of Madelon it wound<br/> +A broken stream, whose shallows, tho’ the waves<br/> +Roll’d on their way with rapid melody,<br/> +A child might tread. Behind, an orange grove<br/> +Its gay green foliage starr’d with golden fruit;<br/> +But with what odours did their blossoms load<br/> +The passing gale of eve! less thrilling sweet<br/> +Rose from the marble’s perforated floor,<br/> +Where kneeling at her prayers, the Moorish queen<br/> +Inhaled the cool delight,<a href="#fn8" name="fnref8" id="fnref8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> and whilst she asked<br/> +The Prophet for his promised paradise,<br/> +Shaped from the present scene its utmost joys.<br/> +A goodly scene! fair as that faery land<br/> +Where Arthur lives, by ministering spirits borne<br/> +From Camlan’s bloody banks; or as the groves<br/> +Of earliest Eden, where, so legends say,<br/> +Enoch abides, and he who rapt away<br/> +By fiery steeds, and chariotted in fire,<br/> +Past in his mortal form the eternal ways;<br/> +And John, beloved of Christ, enjoying there<br/> +The beatific vision, sometimes seen<br/> +The distant dawning of eternal day,<br/> +Till all things be fulfilled.<br/> +“Survey this scene!”<br/> +So Theodore address’d the Maid of Arc,<br/> +“There is no evil here, no wretchedness,<br/> +It is the Heaven of those who nurst on earth<br/> +Their nature’s gentlest feelings. Yet not here<br/> +Centering their joys, but with a patient hope,<br/> +Waiting the allotted hour when capable<br/> +Of loftier callings, to a better state<br/> +They pass; and hither from that better state<br/> +Frequent they come, preserving so those ties<br/> +That thro’ the infinite progressiveness<br/> +Complete our perfect bliss.<br/> +“Even such, so blest,<br/> +Save that the memory of no sorrows past<br/> +Heightened the present joy, our world was once,<br/> +In the first æra of its innocence<br/> +Ere man had learnt to bow the knee to man.<br/> +Was there a youth whom warm affection fill’d,<br/> +He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits<br/> +His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck’d<br/> +The sunny bank, he gather’d for the maid,<br/> +Nor she disdain’d the gift; for Vice not yet<br/> +Had burst the dungeons of her hell, and rear’d<br/> +Those artificial boundaries that divide<br/> +Man from his species. State of blessedness!<br/> +Till that ill-omen’d hour when Cain’s stern son<br/> +Delved in the bowels of the earth for gold,<br/> +Accursed bane of virtue! of such force<br/> +As poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon’s locks,<br/> +Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-blood<br/> +Cold curdle in his veins, the creeping flesh<br/> +Grew stiff with horror, and the heart forgot<br/> +To beat. Accursed hour! for man no more<br/> +To Justice paid his homage, but forsook<br/> +Her altars, and bow’d down before the shrine<br/> +Of Wealth and Power, the Idols he had made.<br/> +Then Hell enlarged herself, her gates flew wide,<br/> +Her legion fiends rush’d forth. Oppression came<br/> +Whose frown is desolation, and whose breath<br/> +Blasts like the Pestilence; and Poverty,<br/> +A meagre monster, who with withering touch<br/> +Makes barren all the better part of man,<br/> +Mother of Miseries. Then the goodly earth<br/> +Which God had fram’d for happiness, became<br/> +One theatre of woe, and all that God<br/> +Had given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends<br/> +His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best<br/> +Hath he ordained all things, the ALL-WISE!<br/> +For by experience rous’d shall man at length<br/> +Dash down his Moloch-Idols, Samson-like<br/> +And burst his fetters, only strong whilst strong<br/> +Believed. Then in the bottomless abyss<br/> +Oppression shall be chain’d, and Poverty<br/> +Die, and with her, her brood of Miseries;<br/> +And Virtue and Equality preserve<br/> +The reign of Love, and Earth shall once again<br/> +Be Paradise, whilst Wisdom shall secure<br/> +The state of bliss which Ignorance betrayed.”<br/> +<br/> +“Oh age of happiness!” the Maid exclaim’d,<br/> +Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest age<br/> +Arrive! and happy thou my Theodore,<br/> +Permitted thus to see the sacred depths<br/> +Of wisdom!”<br/> +“Such,” the blessed Spirit replied,<br/> +Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range<br/> +The vast infinity, progressive still<br/> +In knowledge and encreasing blessedness,<br/> +This our united portion. Thou hast yet<br/> +A little while to sojourn amongst men:<br/> +I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze<br/> +Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing<br/> +I will not hover near! and at that hour<br/> +When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose,<br/> +Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved!<br/> +I will be with thee in thine agonies,<br/> +And welcome thee to life and happiness,<br/> +Eternal infinite beatitude!”<br/> +<br/> +He spake, and led her near a straw-roof’d cot,<br/> +Love’s Palace. By the Virtues circled there,<br/> +The cherub listen’d to such melodies,<br/> +As aye, when one good deed is register’d<br/> +Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven.<br/> +Labour was there, his crisp locks floating loose,<br/> +Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye,<br/> +And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph Health<br/> +Still follow’d on his path, and where he trod<br/> +Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was Hope,<br/> +The general friend; and Pity, whose mild eye<br/> +Wept o’er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form,<br/> +Majestic Chastity, whose sober smile<br/> +Delights and awes the soul; a laurel wreath<br/> +Restrain’d her tresses, and upon her breast<br/> +The snow-drop hung its head,<a href="#fn9" name="fnref9" id="fnref9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> that seem’d to grow<br/> +Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid<br/> +Love went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous<br/> +Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe’er<br/> +Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read<br/> +Her every rising wish, then only pleased<br/> +When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais’d.<br/> +<br/> +“Glory to thee whose vivifying power<br/> +Pervades all Nature’s universal frame!<br/> +Glory to thee Creator Love! to thee,<br/> +Parent of all the smiling Charities,<br/> +That strew the thorny path of Life with flowers!<br/> +Glory to thee Preserver! to thy praise<br/> +The awakened woodlands echo all the day<br/> +Their living melody; and warbling forth<br/> +To thee her twilight song, the Nightingale<br/> +Holds the lone Traveller from his way, or charms<br/> +The listening Poet’s ear. Where Love shall deign<br/> +To fix his seat, there blameless Pleasure sheds<br/> +Her roseate dews; Content will sojourn there,<br/> +And Happiness behold Affection eye<br/> +Gleam with the Mother’s smile. Thrice happy he<br/> +Who feels thy holy power! he shall not drag,<br/> +Forlorn and friendless, along Life’s long path<br/> +To Age’s drear abode; he shall not waste<br/> +The bitter evening of his days unsooth’d;<br/> +But Hope shall cheer his hours of Solitude,<br/> +And Vice shall vainly strive to wound his breast,<br/> +That bears that talisman; and when he meets<br/> +The eloquent eye of Tenderness, and hears<br/> +The bosom-thrilling music of her voice;<br/> +The joy he feels shall purify his Soul,<br/> +And imp it for anticipated Heaven.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn8" id="fn8"></a> <a href="#fnref8">[8]</a> +In the cabinet of the Alhambra where the Queen used to dress and say her +prayers, and which is still an enchanting sight, there is a slab of marble full +of small holes, through which perfumes exhaled that were kept constantly +burning beneath. The doors and windows are disposed so as to afford the most +agreeable prospects, and to throw a soft yet lively light upon the eyes. Fresh +currents of air too are admitted, so as to renew every instant the delicious +coolness of this apartment.—<i>Sketch of the History of the Spanish +Moors, prefixed to Florian’s Gonsalvo of Cordova</i>. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn9" id="fn9"></a> <a href="#fnref9">[9]</a> +“The grave matron does not perceive how time has impaired her charms, but +decks her faded bosom with the same snow-drop that seems to grow on the breast +of the Virgin.”—P.H. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section4"></a>The Rose</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +Betwene the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is +the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the feld florisched. For +als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, +that sche hadde don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed +to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche sche +was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made +hire preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not +gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be +knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne she had +thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer +quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge, becomen +white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise weren the first Roseres +and roses, bothe white and rede, that evere ony man saughe. And +thus was this Maiden saved be the Grace of God.<br/> +<br/> +<i>The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John +Maundevile</i>. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<b>The Rose</b> +<br/> +Nay Edith! spare the rose!—it lives—it +lives,<br/> +It feels the noon-tide sun, and drinks refresh’d<br/> +The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand<br/> +Tear sunder its life-fibres and destroy<br/> +The sense of being!—why that infidel smile?<br/> +Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful,<br/> +And thou shall have a tale of other times,<br/> +For I am skill’d in legendary lore,<br/> +So thou wilt let it live. There was a time<br/> +Ere this, the freshest sweetest flower that blooms,<br/> +Bedeck’d the bowers of earth. Thou hast not heard<br/> +How first by miracle its fragrant leaves<br/> +Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.<br/> +<br/> +There dwelt at Bethlehem a Jewish maid<br/> +And Zillah was her name, so passing fair<br/> +That all Judea spake the damsel’s praise.<br/> +He who had seen her eyes’ dark radiance<br/> +How quick it spake the soul, and what a soul<br/> +Beam’d in its mild effulgence, woe was he!<br/> +For not in solitude, for not in crowds,<br/> +Might he escape remembrance, or avoid<br/> +Her imaged form that followed every where,<br/> +And fill’d the heart, and fix’d the absent eye.<br/> +Woe was he, for her bosom own’d no love<br/> +Save the strong ardours of religious zeal,<br/> +For Zillah on her God had centered all<br/> +Her spirit’s deep affections. So for her<br/> +Her tribes-men sigh’d in vain, yet reverenced<br/> +The obdurate virtue that destroyed their hopes.<br/> +<br/> +One man there was, a vain and wretched man,<br/> +Who saw, desired, despair’d, and hated her.<br/> +His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek<br/> +Even till the flush of angry modesty<br/> +Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.<br/> +She loath’d the man, for Hamuel’s eye was bold,<br/> +And the strong workings of brute selfishness<br/> +Had moulded his broad features; and she fear’d<br/> +The bitterness of wounded vanity<br/> +That with a fiendish hue would overcast<br/> +His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear,<br/> +For Hamuel vowed revenge and laid a plot<br/> +Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad<br/> +Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports<br/> +That soon obtain belief; that Zillah’s eye<br/> +When in the temple heaven-ward it was rais’d<br/> +Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those<br/> +Who had beheld the enthusiast’s melting glance<br/> +With other feelings fill’d; that ’twas a task<br/> +Of easy sort to play the saint by day<br/> +Before the public eye, but that all eyes<br/> +Were closed at night; that Zillah’s life was foul,<br/> +Yea forfeit to the law.<br/> +<br/> +Shame—shame to man<br/> +That he should trust so easily the tongue<br/> +That stabs another’s fame! the ill report<br/> +Was heard, repeated, and believed,—and soon,<br/> +For Hamuel by most damned artifice<br/> +Produced such semblances of guilt, the Maid<br/> +Was judged to shameful death.<br/> +Without the walls<br/> +There was a barren field; a place abhorr’d,<br/> +For it was there where wretched criminals<br/> +Were done to die; and there they built the stake,<br/> +And piled the fuel round, that should consume<br/> +The accused Maid, abandon’d, as it seem’d,<br/> +By God and man. The assembled Bethlemites<br/> +Beheld the scene, and when they saw the Maid<br/> +Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness<br/> +She lifted up her patient looks to Heaven,<br/> +They doubted of her guilt. With other thoughts<br/> +Stood Hamuel near the pile, him savage joy<br/> +Led thitherward, but now within his heart<br/> +Unwonted feelings stirr’d, and the first pangs<br/> +Of wakening guilt, anticipating Hell.<br/> +The eye of Zillah as it glanced around<br/> +Fell on the murderer once, but not in wrath;<br/> +And therefore like a dagger it had fallen,<br/> +Had struck into his soul a cureless wound.<br/> +Conscience! thou God within us! not in the hour<br/> +Of triumph, dost thou spare the guilty wretch,<br/> +Not in the hour of infamy and death<br/> +Forsake the virtuous! they draw near the stake—<br/> +And lo! the torch! hold hold your erring hands!<br/> +Yet quench the rising flames!—they rise! they spread!<br/> +They reach the suffering Maid! oh God protect<br/> +The innocent one!<br/> +They rose, they spread, they raged—<br/> +The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire<br/> +Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames<br/> +In one long lightning flash collecting fierce,<br/> +Darted and blasted Hamuel—him alone.<br/> +Hark—what a fearful scream the multitude<br/> +Pour forth!—and yet more miracles! the stake<br/> +Buds out, and spreads its light green leaves and bowers<br/> +The innocent Maid, and roses bloom around,<br/> +Now first beheld since Paradise was lost,<br/> +And fill with Eden odours all the air. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section5"></a>The Complaints of the Poor</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +And wherefore do the Poor complain?<br/> + The rich man asked of me,—<br/> +Come walk abroad with me, I said<br/> + And I will answer thee.<br/> +<br/> +Twas evening and the frozen streets<br/> + Were cheerless to behold,<br/> +And we were wrapt and coated well,<br/> + And yet we were a-cold.<br/> +<br/> +We met an old bare-headed man,<br/> + His locks were few and white,<br/> +I ask’d him what he did abroad<br/> + In that cold winter’s night:<br/> +<br/> +’Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,<br/> + But at home no fire had he,<br/> +And therefore, he had come abroad<br/> + To ask for charity.<br/> +<br/> +We met a young bare-footed child,<br/> + And she begg’d loud and bold,<br/> +I ask’d her what she did abroad<br/> + When the wind it blew so cold;<br/> +<br/> +She said her father was at home<br/> + And he lay sick a-bed,<br/> +And therefore was it she was sent<br/> + Abroad to beg for bread.<br/> +<br/> +We saw a woman sitting down<br/> + Upon a stone to rest,<br/> +She had a baby at her back<br/> + And another at her breast;<br/> +<br/> +I ask’d her why she loiter’d there<br/> + When the wind it was so chill;<br/> +She turn’d her head and bade the child<br/> + That scream’d behind be still.<br/> +<br/> +She told us that her husband served<br/> + A soldier, far away,<br/> +And therefore to her parish she<br/> + Was begging back her way.<br/> +<br/> +We met a girl; her dress was loose<br/> + And sunken was her eye,<br/> +Who with the wanton’s hollow voice<br/> + Address’d the passers by;<br/> +<br/> +I ask’d her what there was in guilt<br/> + That could her heart allure<br/> +To shame, disease, and late remorse?<br/> + She answer’d, she was poor.<br/> +<br/> +I turn’d me to the rich man then<br/> + For silently stood he,<br/> +You ask’d me why the Poor complain,<br/> + And these have answer’d thee. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section6"></a>Metrical Letter</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Written from London</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Margaret! my Cousin!—nay, you must not smile;<br/> +I love the homely and familiar phrase;<br/> +And I will call thee Cousin Margaret,<br/> +However quaint amid the measured line<br/> +The good old term appears. Oh! it looks ill<br/> +When delicate tongues disclaim old terms of kin,<br/> +Sirring and Madaming as civilly<br/> +As if the road between the heart and lips<br/> +Were such a weary and Laplandish way<br/> +That the poor travellers came to the red gates<br/> +Half frozen. Trust me Cousin Margaret,<br/> +For many a day my Memory has played<br/> +The creditor with me on your account,<br/> +And made me shame to think that I should owe<br/> +So long the debt of kindness. But in truth,<br/> +Like Christian on his pilgrimage, I bear<br/> +So heavy a pack of business, that albeit<br/> +I toil on mainly, in our twelve hours race<br/> +Time leaves me distanced. Loath indeed were I<br/> +That for a moment you should lay to me<br/> +Unkind neglect; mine, Margaret, is a heart<br/> +That smokes not, yet methinks there should be some<br/> +Who know how warm it beats. I am not one<br/> +Who can play off my smiles and courtesies<br/> +To every Lady of her lap dog tired<br/> +Who wants a play-thing; I am no sworn friend<br/> +Of half-an-hour, as apt to leave as love;<br/> +Mine are no mushroom feelings that spring up<br/> +At once without a seed and take no root,<br/> +Wiseliest distrusted. In a narrow sphere<br/> +The little circle of domestic life<br/> +I would be known and loved; the world beyond<br/> +Is not for me. But Margaret, sure I think<br/> +That you should know me well, for you and I<br/> +Grew up together, and when we look back<br/> +Upon old times our recollections paint<br/> +The same familiar faces. Did I wield<br/> +The wand of Merlin’s magic I would make<br/> +Brave witchcraft. We would have a faery ship,<br/> +Aye, a new Ark, as in that other flood<br/> +That cleansed the sons of Anak from the earth,<br/> +The Sylphs should waft us to some goodly isle<br/> +Like that where whilome old Apollidon<br/> +Built up his blameless spell; and I would bid<br/> +The Sea Nymphs pile around their coral bowers,<br/> +That we might stand upon the beach, and mark<br/> +The far-off breakers shower their silver spray,<br/> +And hear the eternal roar whose pleasant sound<br/> +Told us that never mariner should reach<br/> +Our quiet coast. In such a blessed isle<br/> +We might renew the days of infancy,<br/> +And Life like a long childhood pass away,<br/> +Without one care. It may be, Margaret,<br/> +That I shall yet be gathered to my friends,<br/> +For I am not of those who live estranged<br/> +Of choice, till at the last they join their race<br/> +In the family vault. If so, if I should lose,<br/> +Like my old friend the Pilgrim, this huge pack<br/> +So heavy on my shoulders, I and mine<br/> +Will end our pilgrimage most pleasantly.<br/> +If not, if I should never get beyond<br/> +This Vanity town, there is another world<br/> +Where friends will meet. And often, Margaret,<br/> +I gaze at night into the boundless sky,<br/> +And think that I shall there be born again,<br/> +The exalted native of some better star;<br/> +And like the rude American I hope<br/> +To find in Heaven the things I loved on earth. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section7"></a>Ballads</h2> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section8"></a>The Cross Roads</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The circumstance related in the following Ballad happened about +forty years ago in a village adjacent to Bristol. A person who +was present at the funeral, told me the story and the particulars +of the interment, as I have versified them. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +There was an old man breaking stones<br/> +To mend the turnpike way,<br/> +He sat him down beside a brook<br/> +And out his bread and cheese he took,<br/> +For now it was mid-day.<br/> +<br/> +He lent his back against a post,<br/> +His feet the brook ran by;<br/> +And there were water-cresses growing,<br/> +And pleasant was the water’s flowing<br/> +For he was hot and dry.<br/> +<br/> +A soldier with his knapsack on<br/> +Came travelling o’er the down,<br/> +The sun was strong and he was tired,<br/> +And of the old man he enquired<br/> +How far to Bristol town.<br/> +<br/> +Half an hour’s walk for a young man<br/> +By lanes and fields and stiles.<br/> +But you the foot-path do not know,<br/> +And if along the road you go<br/> +Why then ’tis three good miles.<br/> +<br/> +The soldier took his knapsack off<br/> +For he was hot and dry;<br/> +And out his bread and cheese he took<br/> +And he sat down beside the brook<br/> +To dine in company.<br/> +<br/> +Old friend! in faith, the soldier says<br/> +I envy you almost;<br/> +My shoulders have been sorely prest<br/> +And I should like to sit and rest,<br/> +My back against that post.<br/> +<br/> +In such a sweltering day as this<br/> +A knapsack is the devil!<br/> +And if on t’other side I sat<br/> +It would not only spoil our chat<br/> +But make me seem uncivil.<br/> +<br/> +The old man laugh’d and moved. I wish<br/> +It were a great-arm’d chair!<br/> +But this may help a man at need;<br/> +And yet it was a cursed deed<br/> +That ever brought it there.<br/> +<br/> +There’s a poor girl lies buried here<br/> +Beneath this very place.<br/> +The earth upon her corpse is prest<br/> +This stake is driven into her breast<br/> +And a stone is on her face.<br/> +<br/> +The soldier had but just lent back<br/> +And now he half rose up.<br/> +There’s sure no harm in dining here,<br/> +My friend? and yet to be sincere<br/> +I should not like to sup.<br/> +<br/> +God rest her! she is still enough<br/> +Who sleeps beneath our feet!<br/> +The old man cried. No harm I trow<br/> +She ever did herself, tho’ now<br/> +She lies where four roads meet.<br/> +<br/> +I have past by about that hour<br/> +When men are not most brave,<br/> +It did not make my heart to fail,<br/> +And I have heard the nightingale<br/> +Sing sweetly on her grave.<br/> +<br/> +I have past by about that hour<br/> +When Ghosts their freedom have,<br/> +But there was nothing here to fright,<br/> +And I have seen the glow-worm’s light<br/> +Shine on the poor girl’s grave.<br/> +<br/> +There’s one who like a Christian lies<br/> +Beneath the church-tree’s shade;<br/> +I’d rather go a long mile round<br/> +Than pass at evening thro’ the ground<br/> +Wherein that man is laid.<br/> +<br/> +There’s one that in the church-yard lies<br/> +For whom the bell did toll;<br/> +He lies in consecrated ground,<br/> +But for all the wealth in Bristol town<br/> +I would not be with his soul!<br/> +<br/> +Did’st see a house below the hill<br/> +That the winds and the rains destroy?<br/> +’Twas then a farm where he did dwell,<br/> +And I remember it full well<br/> +When I was a growing boy.<br/> +<br/> +And she was a poor parish girl<br/> +That came up from the west,<br/> +From service hard she ran away<br/> +And at that house in evil day<br/> +Was taken in to rest.<br/> +<br/> +The man he was a wicked man<br/> +And an evil life he led;<br/> +Rage made his cheek grow deadly white<br/> +And his grey eyes were large and light,<br/> +And in anger they grew red.<br/> +<br/> +The man was bad, the mother worse,<br/> +Bad fruit of a bad stem,<br/> +’Twould make your hair to stand-on-end<br/> +If I should tell to you my friend<br/> +The things that were told of them!<br/> +<br/> +Did’st see an out-house standing by?<br/> +The walls alone remain;<br/> +It was a stable then, but now<br/> +Its mossy roof has fallen through<br/> +All rotted by the rain.<br/> +<br/> +The poor girl she had serv’d with them<br/> +Some half-a-year, or more,<br/> +When she was found hung up one day<br/> +Stiff as a corpse and cold as clay<br/> +Behind that stable door!<br/> +<br/> +It is a very lonesome place,<br/> +No hut or house is near;<br/> +Should one meet a murderer there alone<br/> +’Twere vain to scream, and the dying groan<br/> +Would never reach mortal ear.<br/> +<br/> +And there were strange reports about<br/> +That the coroner never guest.<br/> +So he decreed that she should lie<br/> +Where four roads meet in infamy,<br/> +With a stake drove in her breast.<br/> +<br/> +Upon a board they carried her<br/> +To the place where four roads met,<br/> +And I was one among the throng<br/> +That hither followed them along,<br/> +I shall never the sight forget!<br/> +<br/> +They carried her upon a board<br/> +In the cloaths in which she died;<br/> +I saw the cap blow off her head,<br/> +Her face was of a dark dark red<br/> +Her eyes were starting wide:<br/> +<br/> +I think they could not have been closed<br/> +So widely did they strain.<br/> +I never saw so dreadful a sight,<br/> +And it often made me wake at night,<br/> +For I saw her face again.<br/> +<br/> +They laid her here where four roads meet.<br/> +Beneath this very place,<br/> +The earth upon her corpse was prest,<br/> +This post is driven into her breast,<br/> +And a stone is on her face. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section9"></a>The Sailor</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b>who had served in the Slave Trade</b><br/> +<br/> +In September, 1798, a Dissenting Minister of Bristol, discovered +a Sailor in the neighbourhood of that City, groaning and praying +in a hovel. The circumstance that occasioned his agony of mind is +detailed in the annexed Ballad, without the slightest addition or +alteration. By presenting it as a Poem the story is made more +public, and such stories ought to be made as public as +possible. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +He stopt,—it surely was a groan<br/> +That from the hovel came!<br/> +He stopt and listened anxiously<br/> +Again it sounds the same.<br/> +<br/> +It surely from the hovel comes!<br/> +And now he hastens there,<br/> +And thence he hears the name of Christ<br/> +Amidst a broken prayer.<br/> +<br/> +He entered in the hovel now,<br/> +A sailor there he sees,<br/> +His hands were lifted up to Heaven<br/> +And he was on his knees.<br/> +<br/> +Nor did the Sailor so intent<br/> +His entering footsteps heed,<br/> +But now the Lord’s prayer said, and now<br/> +His half-forgotten creed.<br/> +<br/> +And often on his Saviour call’d<br/> +With many a bitter groan,<br/> +In such heart-anguish as could spring<br/> +From deepest guilt alone.<br/> +<br/> +He ask’d the miserable man<br/> +Why he was kneeling there,<br/> +And what the crime had been that caus’d<br/> +The anguish of his prayer.<br/> +<br/> +Oh I have done a wicked thing!<br/> +It haunts me night and day,<br/> +And I have sought this lonely place<br/> +Here undisturb’d to pray.<br/> +<br/> +I have no place to pray on board<br/> +So I came here alone,<br/> +That I might freely kneel and pray,<br/> +And call on Christ and groan.<br/> +<br/> +If to the main-mast head I go,<br/> +The wicked one is there,<br/> +From place to place, from rope to rope,<br/> +He follows every where.<br/> +<br/> +I shut my eyes,—it matters not—<br/> +Still still the same I see,—<br/> +And when I lie me down at night<br/> +’Tis always day with me.<br/> +<br/> +He follows follows every where,<br/> +And every place is Hell!<br/> +O God—and I must go with him<br/> +In endless fire to dwell.<br/> +<br/> +He follows follows every where,<br/> +He’s still above—below,<br/> +Oh tell me where to fly from him!<br/> +Oh tell me where to go!<br/> +<br/> +But tell me, quoth the Stranger then,<br/> +What this thy crime hath been,<br/> +So haply I may comfort give<br/> +To one that grieves for sin.<br/> +<br/> +O I have done a cursed deed<br/> +The wretched man replies,<br/> +And night and day and every where<br/> +’Tis still before my eyes.<br/> +<br/> +I sail’d on board a Guinea-man<br/> +And to the slave-coast went;<br/> +Would that the sea had swallowed me<br/> +When I was innocent!<br/> +<br/> +And we took in our cargo there,<br/> +Three hundred negroe slaves,<br/> +And we sail’d homeward merrily<br/> +Over the ocean waves.<br/> +<br/> +But some were sulky of the slaves<br/> +And would not touch their meat,<br/> +So therefore we were forced by threats<br/> +And blows to make them eat.<br/> +<br/> +One woman sulkier than the rest<br/> +Would still refuse her food,—<br/> +O Jesus God! I hear her cries—<br/> +I see her in her blood!<br/> +<br/> +The Captain made me tie her up<br/> +And flog while he stood by,<br/> +And then he curs’d me if I staid<br/> +My hand to hear her cry.<br/> +<br/> +She groan’d, she shriek’d—I could not spare<br/> +For the Captain he stood by—<br/> +Dear God! that I might rest one night<br/> +From that poor woman’s cry!<br/> +<br/> +She twisted from the blows—her blood<br/> +Her mangled flesh I see—<br/> +And still the Captain would not spare—<br/> +Oh he was worse than me!<br/> +<br/> +She could not be more glad than I<br/> +When she was taken down,<br/> +A blessed minute—’twas the last<br/> +That I have ever known!<br/> +<br/> +I did not close my eyes all night,<br/> +Thinking what I had done;<br/> +I heard her groans and they grew faint<br/> +About the rising sun.<br/> +<br/> +She groan’d and groan’d, but her groans grew<br/> +Fainter at morning tide,<br/> +Fainter and fainter still they came<br/> +Till at the noon she died.<br/> +<br/> +They flung her overboard;—poor wretch<br/> +She rested from her pain,—<br/> +But when—O Christ! O blessed God!<br/> +Shall I have rest again!<br/> +<br/> +I saw the sea close over her,<br/> +Yet she was still in sight;<br/> +I see her twisting every where;<br/> +I see her day and night.<br/> +<br/> +Go where I will, do what I can<br/> +The wicked one I see—<br/> +Dear Christ have mercy on my soul,<br/> +O God deliver me!<br/> +<br/> +To morrow I set sail again<br/> +Not to the Negroe shore—<br/> +Wretch that I am I will at least<br/> +Commit that sin no more.<br/> +<br/> +O give me comfort if you can—<br/> +Oh tell me where to fly—<br/> +And bid me hope, if there be hope,<br/> +For one so lost as I.<br/> +<br/> +Poor wretch, the stranger he replied,<br/> +Put thou thy trust in heaven,<br/> +And call on him for whose dear sake<br/> +All sins shall be forgiven.<br/> +<br/> +This night at least is thine, go thou<br/> +And seek the house of prayer,<br/> +There shalt thou hear the word of God<br/> +And he will help thee there! +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section10"></a>Jaspar</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The stories of the two following ballads are wholly imaginary. I +may say of each as John Bunyan did of his <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>, +</p> + +<p class +="noindent"><i>It came from mine own heart, so to my head,<br/> +And thence into my fingers trickled;<br/> +Then to my pen, from whence immediately<br/> +On paper I did dribble it daintily.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<b>Jaspar</b> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Jaspar was poor, and want and vice<br/> +Had made his heart like stone,<br/> +And Jaspar look’d with envious eyes<br/> +On riches not his own.<br/> +<br/> +On plunder bent abroad he went<br/> +Towards the close of day,<br/> +And loitered on the lonely road<br/> +Impatient for his prey.<br/> +<br/> +No traveller came, he loiter’d long<br/> +And often look’d around,<br/> +And paus’d and listen’d eagerly<br/> +To catch some coming sound.<br/> +<br/> +He sat him down beside the stream<br/> +That crossed the lonely way,<br/> +So fair a scene might well have charm’d<br/> +All evil thoughts away;<br/> +<br/> +He sat beneath a willow tree<br/> +That cast a trembling shade,<br/> +The gentle river full in front<br/> +A little island made,<br/> +<br/> +Where pleasantly the moon-beam shone<br/> +Upon the poplar trees,<br/> +Whose shadow on the stream below<br/> +Play’d slowly to the breeze.<br/> +<br/> +He listen’d—and he heard the wind<br/> +That waved the willow tree;<br/> +He heard the waters flow along<br/> +And murmur quietly.<br/> +<br/> +He listen’d for the traveller’s tread,<br/> +The nightingale sung sweet,—<br/> +He started up, for now he heard<br/> +The sound of coming feet;<br/> +<br/> +He started up and graspt a stake<br/> +And waited for his prey;<br/> +There came a lonely traveller<br/> +And Jaspar crost his way.<br/> +<br/> +But Jaspar’s threats and curses fail’d<br/> +The traveller to appal,<br/> +He would not lightly yield the purse<br/> +That held his little all.<br/> +<br/> +Awhile he struggled, but he strove<br/> +With Jaspar’s strength in vain;<br/> +Beneath his blows he fell and groan’d,<br/> +And never spoke again.<br/> +<br/> +He lifted up the murdered man<br/> +And plunged him in the flood,<br/> +And in the running waters then<br/> +He cleansed his hands from blood.<br/> +<br/> +The waters closed around the corpse<br/> +And cleansed his hands from gore,<br/> +The willow waved, the stream flowed on<br/> +And murmured as before.<br/> +<br/> +There was no human eye had seen<br/> +The blood the murderer spilt,<br/> +And Jaspar’s conscience never knew<br/> +The avenging goad of guilt.<br/> +<br/> +And soon the ruffian had consum’d<br/> +The gold he gain’d so ill,<br/> +And years of secret guilt pass’d on<br/> +And he was needy still.<br/> +<br/> +One eve beside the alehouse fire<br/> +He sat as it befell,<br/> +When in there came a labouring man<br/> +Whom Jaspar knew full well.<br/> +<br/> +He sat him down by Jaspar’s side<br/> +A melancholy man,<br/> +For spite of honest toil, the world<br/> +Went hard with Jonathan.<br/> +<br/> +His toil a little earn’d, and he<br/> +With little was content,<br/> +But sickness on his wife had fallen<br/> +And all he had was spent.<br/> +<br/> +Then with his wife and little ones<br/> +He shared the scanty meal,<br/> +And saw their looks of wretchedness,<br/> +And felt what wretches feel.<br/> +<br/> +That very morn the Landlord’s power<br/> +Had seized the little left,<br/> +And now the sufferer found himself<br/> +Of every thing bereft.<br/> +<br/> +He lent his head upon his hand,<br/> +His elbow on his knee,<br/> +And so by Jaspar’s side he sat<br/> +And not a word said he.<br/> +<br/> +Nay—why so downcast? Jaspar cried,<br/> +Come—cheer up Jonathan!<br/> +Drink neighbour drink! ’twill warm thy heart,<br/> +Come! come! take courage man!<br/> +<br/> +He took the cup that Jaspar gave<br/> +And down he drain’d it *quic<br/> +I have a wife, said Jonathan,<br/> +And she is deadly sick.<br/> +<br/> +She has no bed to lie upon,<br/> +I saw them take her bed.<br/> +And I have children—would to God<br/> +That they and I were dead!<br/> +<br/> +Our Landlord he goes home to night<br/> +And he will sleep in peace.<br/> +I would that I were in my grave<br/> +For there all troubles cease.<br/> +<br/> +In vain I pray’d him to forbear<br/> +Tho’ wealth enough has he—<br/> +God be to him as merciless<br/> +As he has been to me!<br/> +<br/> +When Jaspar saw the poor man’s soul<br/> +On all his ills intent,<br/> +He plied him with the heartening cup<br/> +And with him forth he went.<br/> +<br/> +This landlord on his homeward road<br/> +’Twere easy now to meet.<br/> +The road is lonesome—Jonathan,<br/> +And vengeance, man! is sweet.<br/> +<br/> +He listen’d to the tempter’s voice<br/> +The thought it made him start.<br/> +His head was hot, and wretchedness<br/> +Had hardened now his heart.<br/> +<br/> +Along the lonely road they went<br/> +And waited for their prey,<br/> +They sat them down beside the stream<br/> +That crossed the lonely way.<br/> +<br/> +They sat them down beside the stream<br/> +And never a word they said,<br/> +They sat and listen’d silently<br/> +To hear the traveller’s tread.<br/> +<br/> +The night was calm, the night was dark,<br/> +No star was in the sky,<br/> +The wind it waved the willow boughs,<br/> +The stream flowed quietly.<br/> +<br/> +The night was calm, the air was still,<br/> +Sweet sung the nightingale,<br/> +The soul of Jonathan was sooth’d,<br/> +His heart began to fail.<br/> +<br/> +’Tis weary waiting here, he cried,<br/> +And now the hour is late,—<br/> +Methinks he will not come to night,<br/> +’Tis useless more to wait.<br/> +<br/> +Have patience man! the ruffian said,<br/> +A little we may wait,<br/> +But longer shall his wife expect<br/> +Her husband at the gate.<br/> +<br/> +Then Jonathan grew sick at heart,<br/> +My conscience yet is clear,<br/> +Jaspar—it is not yet too late—<br/> +I will not linger here.<br/> +<br/> +How now! cried Jaspar, why I thought<br/> +Thy conscience was asleep.<br/> +No more such qualms, the night is dark,<br/> +The river here is deep,<br/> +<br/> +What matters that, said Jonathan,<br/> +Whose blood began to freeze,<br/> +When there is one above whose eye<br/> +The deeds of darkness sees?<br/> +<br/> +We are safe enough, said Jaspar then<br/> +If that be all thy fear;<br/> +Nor eye below, nor eye above<br/> +Can pierce the darkness here.<br/> +<br/> +That instant as the murderer spake<br/> +There came a sudden light;<br/> +Strong as the mid-day sun it shone,<br/> +Though all around was night.<br/> +<br/> +It hung upon the willow tree,<br/> +It hung upon the flood,<br/> +It gave to view the poplar isle<br/> +And all the scene of blood.<br/> +<br/> +The traveller who journies there<br/> +He surely has espied<br/> +A madman who has made his home<br/> +Upon the river’s side.<br/> +<br/> +His cheek is pale, his eye is wild,<br/> +His look bespeaks despair;<br/> +For Jaspar since that hour has made<br/> +His home unshelter’d there.<br/> +<br/> +And fearful are his dreams at night<br/> +And dread to him the day;<br/> +He thinks upon his untold crime<br/> +And never dares to pray.<br/> +<br/> +The summer suns, the winter storms,<br/> +O’er him unheeded roll,<br/> +For heavy is the weight of blood<br/> +Upon the maniac’s soul. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section11"></a>Lord William</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +No eye beheld when William plunged<br/> +Young Edmund in the stream,<br/> +No human ear but William’s heard<br/> +Young Edmund’s drowning scream.<br/> +<br/> +Submissive all the vassals own’d<br/> +The murderer for their Lord,<br/> +And he, the rightful heir, possessed<br/> +The house of Erlingford.<br/> +<br/> +The ancient house of Erlingford<br/> +Stood midst a fair domain,<br/> +And Severn’s ample waters near<br/> +Roll’d through the fertile plain.<br/> +<br/> +And often the way-faring man<br/> +Would love to linger there,<br/> +Forgetful of his onward road<br/> +To gaze on scenes so fair.<br/> +<br/> +But never could Lord William dare<br/> +To gaze on Severn’s stream;<br/> +In every wind that swept its waves<br/> +He heard young Edmund scream.<br/> +<br/> +In vain at midnight’s silent hour<br/> +Sleep closed the murderer’s eyes,<br/> +In every dream the murderer saw<br/> +Young Edmund’s form arise.<br/> +<br/> +In vain by restless conscience driven<br/> +Lord William left his home,<br/> +Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,<br/> +In pilgrimage to roam.<br/> +<br/> +To other climes the pilgrim fled,<br/> +But could not fly despair,<br/> +He sought his home again, but peace<br/> +Was still a stranger there.<br/> +<br/> +Each hour was tedious long, yet swift<br/> +The months appear’d to roll;<br/> +And now the day return’d that shook<br/> +With terror William’s soul.<br/> +<br/> +A day that William never felt<br/> +Return without dismay,<br/> +For well had conscience kalendered<br/> +Young Edmund’s dying day.<br/> +<br/> +A fearful day was that! the rains<br/> +Fell fast, with tempest roar,<br/> +And the swoln tide of Severn spread<br/> +Far on the level shore.<br/> +<br/> +In vain Lord William sought the feast<br/> +In vain he quaff’d the bowl,<br/> +And strove with noisy mirth to drown<br/> +The anguish of his soul.<br/> +<br/> +The tempest as its sudden swell<br/> +In gusty howlings came,<br/> +With cold and death-like feelings seem’d<br/> +To thrill his shuddering frame.<br/> +<br/> +Reluctant now, as night came on,<br/> +His lonely couch he prest,<br/> +And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,<br/> +To sleep, but not to rest.<br/> +<br/> +Beside that couch his brother’s form<br/> +Lord Edmund seem’d to stand,<br/> +Such and so pale as when in death<br/> +He grasp’d his brother’s hand;<br/> +<br/> +Such and so pale his face as when<br/> +With faint and faltering tongue,<br/> +To William’s care, a dying charge<br/> +He left his orphan son.<br/> +<br/> +“I bade thee with a father’s love<br/> +My orphan Edmund guard—<br/> +Well William hast thou kept thy charge!<br/> +Now take thy due reward.”<br/> +<br/> +He started up, each limb convuls’d<br/> +With agonizing fear,<br/> +He only heard the storm of night—<br/> +’Twas music to his ear.<br/> +<br/> +When lo! the voice of loud alarm<br/> +His inmost soul appals,<br/> +What ho! Lord William rise in haste!<br/> +The water saps thy walls!<br/> +<br/> +He rose in haste, beneath the walls<br/> +He saw the flood appear,<br/> +It hemm’d him round, ’twas midnight now,<br/> +No human aid was near.<br/> +<br/> +He heard the shout of joy, for now<br/> +A boat approach’d the wall,<br/> +And eager to the welcome aid<br/> +They crowd for safety all.<br/> +<br/> +My boat is small, the boatman cried,<br/> +This dangerous haste forbear!<br/> +Wait other aid, this little bark<br/> +But one from hence can bear.<br/> +<br/> +Lord William leap’d into the boat,<br/> +Haste—haste to yonder shore!<br/> +And ample wealth shall well reward,<br/> +Ply swift and strong the oar.<br/> +<br/> +The boatman plied the oar, the boat<br/> +Went light along the stream,<br/> +Sudden Lord William heard a cry<br/> +Like Edmund’s drowning scream.<br/> +<br/> +The boatman paus’d, methought I heard<br/> +A child’s distressful cry!<br/> +’Twas but the howling wind of night<br/> +Lord William made reply.<br/> +<br/> +Haste haste—ply swift and strong the oar!<br/> +Haste haste across the stream!<br/> +Again Lord William heard a cry<br/> +Like Edmund’s drowning scream.<br/> +<br/> +I heard a child’s distressful scream<br/> +The boatman cried again.<br/> +Nay hasten on—the night is dark—<br/> +And we should search in vain.<br/> +<br/> +Oh God! Lord William dost thou know<br/> +How dreadful ’tis to die?<br/> +And can’st thou without pity hear<br/> +A child’s expiring cry?<br/> +<br/> +How horrible it is to sink<br/> +Beneath the chilly stream,<br/> +To stretch the powerless arms in vain,<br/> +In vain for help to scream?<br/> +<br/> +The shriek again was heard. It came<br/> +More deep, more piercing loud,<br/> +That instant o’er the flood the moon<br/> +Shone through a broken cloud.<br/> +<br/> +And near them they beheld a child,<br/> +Upon a crag he stood,<br/> +A little crag, and all around<br/> +Was spread the rising flood.<br/> +<br/> +The boatman plied the oar, the boat<br/> +Approach’d his resting place,<br/> +The moon-beam shone upon the child<br/> +And show’d how pale his face.<br/> +<br/> +Now reach thine hand! the boatman cried<br/> +Lord William reach and save!<br/> +The child stretch’d forth his little hands<br/> +To grasp the hand he gave.<br/> +<br/> +Then William shriek’d; the hand he touch’d<br/> +Was cold and damp and dead!<br/> +He felt young Edmund in his arms<br/> +A heavier weight than lead.<br/> +<br/> +The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk<br/> +Beneath the avenging stream;<br/> +He rose, he scream’d, no human ear<br/> +Heard William’s drowning scream. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section12"></a>A Ballad, Shewing how an old Woman rode +Double, and who rode before her.</h2> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/001.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="heavy black +illustration (woodcut) of the title ­ worth seeing!" /> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +A.D. 852. Circa dies istos, mulier quædam malefica, in villâ quæ Berkeleia +dicitur degens, gulæ amatrix ac petulantiæ, flagitiis modum usque in senium et +auguriis non ponens, usque ad mortem impudica permansit. Hæc die quadam cum +sederet ad prandium, cornicula quam pro delitiis pascebat, nescio quid garrire +coepit; quo audito, mulieris cultellus de manu excidit, simul et facies +pallescere coepit, et emisso rugitu, hodie, inquit, accipiam grande incommodum, +hodieque ad sulcum ultimum meum pervenit aratrum. quo dicto, nuncius doloris +intravit; muliere vero percunctatâ ad quid veniret, affero, inquit, tibi filii +tui obitum & totius familiæ ejus ex subitâ ruinâ interitum. Hoc quoque +dolore mulier permota, lecto protinus decubuit graviter infirmata; sentiensque +morbum subrepere ad vitalia, liberos quos habuit superstites, monachum +videlicet et monacham, per epistolam invitavit; advenientes autem voce +singultiente alloquitur. Ego, inquit, o pueri, meo miserabili fato dæmoniacis +semper artibus inservivi; ego omnium vitiorum sentina, ego illecebrarum omnium +fui magistra. Erat tamen mihi inter hæc mala, spes vestræ religionis, quæ meam +solidaret animam desperatam; vos expctabam propugnatores contra dæmones, +tutores contra sævissimos hostes. Nunc igitur quoniam ad finem vitæ perveni, +rogo vos per materna ubera, ut mea tentatis alleviare tormenta. Insuite me +defunctam in corio cervino, ac deinde in sarcophago lapideo supponite, +operculumque ferro et plumbo constringite, ac demum lapidem tribus cathenis +ferreis et fortissimis circundantes, clericos quinquaginta psalmorum cantores, +et tot per tres dies presbyteros missarum celebratores applicate, qui feroces +lenigent adversariorum incursus. Ita si tribus noctibus secura jacuero, quartâ +die me infodite humo. Factumque est ut præceperat illis. Sed, proh dolor! nil +preces, nil lacrymæ, nil demum valuere catenæ. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum +chori psallentium corpori assistabant, advenientes Dæmones ostium ecclesiæ +confregerunt ingenti obice clausum, extremasque cathenas negotio levi +dirumpunt: media autem quæ fortior erat, illibata manebat. Tertiâ autem nocte, +circa gallicinium, strepitu hostium adventantium, omne monasterium visum est a +fundamento moveri. Unus ergo dæmonum, et vultu cæteris terribilior & +staturâ eminentior, januas Ecclesiæ; impetu violento concussas in fragmenta +dejecit. Divexerunt clerici cum laicis, metu stelerunt omnium capilli, et +psalmorum concentus defecit. Dæmon ergo gestu ut videbatur arroganti ad +sepulchrum accedens, & nomen mulieris modicum ingeminans, surgere +imperavit. Quâ respondente, quod nequiret pro vinculis, jam malo tuo, inquit, +solveris; et protinus cathenam quæ cæterorum ferociam dæmonum deluserat, velut +stuppeum vinculum rumpebat. Operculum etiam sepulchri pede depellens, mulierem +palam omnibus ab ecclesiâ extraxit, ubi præ foribus niger equus superbe +hinniens videbatur, uncis ferreis et clavis undique confixus, super quem misera +mulier projecta, ab oculis assistentium evanuit. Audiebantur tamen clamores per +quatuor fere miliaria horribiles, auxilium postulantes.<br/> +<br/> +Ista itaque quæ retuli incredibilia non erunt, si legatur beati Gregorii +dialogus, in quo refert, hominem in ecclesiâ sepultam, a dæmonibus foras +ejectum. Et apud Francos Carolus Martellus insignis vir fortudinis, qui +Saracenos Galliam ingressos, Hispaniam redire compulit, exactis vitæ suæ +diebus, in Ecclesiâ beati Dionysii legitur fuisse sepultus. Sed quia +patrimonia, cum decimis omnium fere ecclesiarum Galliæ, pro stipendio +commilitonum suorum mutilaverat, miserabiliter a malignis spiritibus de +sepulchro corporaliter avulsus, usque in hodiernum diem nusquam comparuit.<br/> +<br/> +<i>Matthew of Westminster</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +This story is also related by Olaus Magnus, and in the +<i>Nuremberg Chronicle</i>, from which the wooden cut is +taken. +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b>A Ballad, Shewing how an old Woman rode Double, and who rode +before her.</b> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The Raven croak’d as she sate at her meal,<br/> +And the Old Woman knew what he said,<br/> +And she grew pale at the Raven’s tale,<br/> +And sicken’d and went to her bed.<br/> +<br/> +Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed,<br/> +The Old Woman of Berkeley said,<br/> +The monk my son, and my daughter the nun<br/> +Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.<br/> +<br/> +The monk her son, and her daughter the nun,<br/> +Their way to Berkeley went,<br/> +And they have brought with pious thought<br/> +The holy sacrament.<br/> +<br/> +The old Woman shriek’d as they entered her door,<br/> +’Twas fearful her shrieks to hear,<br/> +Now take the sacrament away<br/> +For mercy, my children dear!<br/> +<br/> +Her lip it trembled with agony,<br/> +The sweat ran down her brow,<br/> +I have tortures in store for evermore,<br/> +Oh! spare me my children now!<br/> +<br/> +Away they sent the sacrament,<br/> +The fit it left her weak,<br/> +She look’d at her children with ghastly eyes<br/> +And faintly struggled to speak.<br/> +<br/> +All kind of sin I have rioted in<br/> +And the judgment now must be,<br/> +But I secured my childrens souls,<br/> +Oh! pray my children for me.<br/> +<br/> +I have suck’d the breath of sleeping babes,<br/> +The fiends have been my slaves,<br/> +I have nointed myself with infants fat,<br/> +And feasted on rifled graves.<br/> +<br/> +And the fiend will fetch me now in fire<br/> +My witchcrafts to atone,<br/> +And I who have rifled the dead man’s grave<br/> +Shall never have rest in my own.<br/> +<br/> +Bless I intreat my winding sheet<br/> +My children I beg of you!<br/> +And with holy water sprinkle my shroud<br/> +And sprinkle my coffin too.<br/> +<br/> +And let me be chain’d in my coffin of stone<br/> +And fasten it strong I implore<br/> +With iron bars, and let it be chain’d<br/> +With three chains to the church floor.<br/> +<br/> +And bless the chains and sprinkle them,<br/> +And let fifty priests stand round,<br/> +Who night and day the mass may say<br/> +Where I lie on the ground.<br/> +<br/> +And let fifty choristers be there<br/> +The funeral dirge to sing,<br/> +Who day and night by the taper’s light<br/> +Their aid to me may bring.<br/> +<br/> +Let the church bells all both great and small<br/> +Be toll’d by night and day,<br/> +To drive from thence the fiends who come<br/> +To bear my corpse away.<br/> +<br/> +And ever have the church door barr’d<br/> +After the even song,<br/> +And I beseech you children dear<br/> +Let the bars and bolts be strong.<br/> +<br/> +And let this be three days and nights<br/> +My wretched corpse to save,<br/> +Preserve me so long from the fiendish throng<br/> +And then I may rest in my grave.<br/> +<br/> +The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down<br/> +And her eyes grew deadly dim,<br/> +Short came her breath and the struggle of death<br/> +Did loosen every limb.<br/> +<br/> +They blest the old woman’s winding sheet<br/> +With rites and prayers as due,<br/> +With holy water they sprinkled her shroud<br/> +And they sprinkled her coffin too.<br/> +<br/> +And they chain’d her in her coffin of stone<br/> +And with iron barr’d it down,<br/> +And in the church with three strong chains<br/> +They chain’d it to the ground.<br/> +<br/> +And they blest the chains and sprinkled them,<br/> +And fifty priests stood round,<br/> +By night and day the mass to say<br/> +Where she lay on the ground.<br/> +<br/> +And fifty choristers were there<br/> +To sing the funeral song,<br/> +And a hallowed taper blazed in the hand<br/> +Of all the sacred throng.<br/> +<br/> +To see the priests and choristers<br/> +It was a goodly sight,<br/> +Each holding, as it were a staff,<br/> +A taper burning bright.<br/> +<br/> +And the church bells all both great and small<br/> +Did toll so loud and long,<br/> +And they have barr’d the church door hard<br/> +After the even song.<br/> +<br/> +And the first night the taper’s light<br/> +Burnt steadily and clear.<br/> +But they without a hideous rout<br/> +Of angry fiends could hear;<br/> +<br/> +A hideous roar at the church door<br/> +Like a long thunder peal,<br/> +And the priests they pray’d and the choristers sung<br/> +Louder in fearful zeal.<br/> +<br/> +Loud toll’d the bell, the priests pray’d well,<br/> +The tapers they burnt bright,<br/> +The monk her son, and her daughter the nun<br/> +They told their beads all night.<br/> +<br/> +The cock he crew, away they flew<br/> +The fiends from the herald of day,<br/> +And undisturb’d the choristers sing<br/> +And the fifty priests they pray.<br/> +<br/> +The second night the taper’s light<br/> +Burnt dismally and blue,<br/> +And every one saw his neighbour’s face<br/> +Like a dead man’s face to view.<br/> +<br/> +And yells and cries without arise<br/> +That the stoutest heart might shock,<br/> +And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring<br/> +Over a mountain rock.<br/> +<br/> +The monk and nun they told their beads<br/> +As fast as they could tell,<br/> +And aye as louder grew the noise<br/> +The faster went the bell.<br/> +<br/> +Louder and louder the choristers sung<br/> +As they trembled more and more,<br/> +And the fifty priests prayed to heaven for aid,<br/> +They never had prayed so before.<br/> +<br/> +The cock he crew, away they flew<br/> +The fiends from the herald of day,<br/> +And undisturb’d the choristers sing<br/> +And the fifty priests they pray.<br/> +<br/> +The third night came and the tapers flame<br/> +A hideous stench did make,<br/> +And they burnt as though they had been dipt<br/> +In the burning brimstone lake.<br/> +<br/> +And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean,<br/> +Grew momently more and more,<br/> +And strokes as of a battering ram<br/> +Did shake the strong church door.<br/> +<br/> +The bellmen they for very fear<br/> +Could toll the bell no longer,<br/> +And still as louder grew the strokes<br/> +Their fear it grew the stronger.<br/> +<br/> +The monk and nun forgot their beads,<br/> +They fell on the ground dismay’d,<br/> +There was not a single saint in heaven<br/> +Whom they did not call to aid.<br/> +<br/> +And the choristers song that late was so strong<br/> +Grew a quaver of consternation,<br/> +For the church did rock as an earthquake shock<br/> +Uplifted its foundation.<br/> +<br/> +And a sound was heard like the trumpet’s blast<br/> +That shall one day wake the dead,<br/> +The strong church door could bear no more<br/> +And the bolts and the bars they fled.<br/> +<br/> +And the taper’s light was extinguish’d quite,<br/> +And the choristers faintly sung,<br/> +And the priests dismay’d, panted and prayed<br/> +Till fear froze every tongue.<br/> +<br/> +And in He came with eyes of flame<br/> +The Fiend to fetch the dead,<br/> +And all the church with his presence glowed<br/> +Like a fiery furnace red.<br/> +<br/> +He laid his hand on the iron chains<br/> +And like flax they moulder’d asunder,<br/> +And the coffin lid that was barr’d so firm<br/> +He burst with his voice of thunder.<br/> +<br/> +And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise<br/> +And come with her master away,<br/> +And the cold sweat stood on the cold cold corpse,<br/> +At the voice she was forced to obey.<br/> +<br/> +She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,<br/> +Her dead flesh quivered with fear,<br/> +And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave<br/> +Never did mortal hear.<br/> +<br/> +She followed the fiend to the church door,<br/> +There stood a black horse there,<br/> +His breath was red like furnace smoke,<br/> +His eyes like a meteor’s glare.<br/> +<br/> +The fiendish force flung her on the horse<br/> +And he leapt up before,<br/> +And away like the lightning’s speed they went<br/> +And she was seen no more.<br/> +<br/> +They saw her no more, but her cries and shrieks<br/> +For four miles round they could hear,<br/> +And children at rest at their mother’s breast,<br/> +Started and screamed with fear. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section13"></a>The Surgeon’s Warning</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The subject of this parody was given me by a friend, to whom also +I am indebted for some of the stanzas.<br/> +<br/> +Respecting the patent coffins herein mentioned, after the manner +of Catholic Poets, who confess the actions they attribute to +their Saints and Deity to be but fiction, I hereby declare that +it is by no means my design to depreciate that useful invention; +and all persons to whom this Ballad shall come are requested to +take notice, that nothing here asserted concerning the aforesaid +Coffins is true, except that the maker and patentee lives by St. +Martin’s Lane. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The Doctor whispered to the Nurse<br/> +And the Surgeon knew what he said,<br/> +And he grew pale at the Doctor’s tale<br/> +And trembled in his sick bed.<br/> +<br/> +Now fetch me my brethren and fetch them with speed<br/> +The Surgeon affrighted said,<br/> +The Parson and the Undertaker,<br/> +Let them hasten or I shall be dead.<br/> +<br/> +The Parson and the Undertaker<br/> +They hastily came complying,<br/> +And the Surgeon’s Prentices ran up stairs<br/> +When they heard that their master was dying.<br/> +<br/> +The Prentices all they entered the room<br/> +By one, by two, by three,<br/> +With a sly grin came Joseph in,<br/> +First of the company.<br/> +<br/> +The Surgeon swore as they enter’d his door,<br/> +’Twas fearful his oaths to hear,—<br/> +Now send these scoundrels to the Devil,<br/> +For God’s sake my brethren dear.<br/> +<br/> +He foam’d at the mouth with the rage he felt<br/> +And he wrinkled his black eye-brow,<br/> +That rascal Joe would be at me I know,<br/> +But zounds let him spare me now.<br/> +<br/> +Then out they sent the Prentices,<br/> +The fit it left him weak,<br/> +He look’d at his brothers with ghastly eyes,<br/> +And faintly struggled to speak.<br/> +<br/> +All kinds of carcasses I have cut up,<br/> +And the judgment now must be—<br/> +But brothers I took care of you,<br/> +So pray take care of me!<br/> +<br/> +I have made candles of infants fat<br/> +The Sextons have been my slaves,<br/> +I have bottled babes unborn, and dried<br/> +Hearts and livers from rifled graves.<br/> +<br/> +And my Prentices now will surely come<br/> +And carve me bone from bone,<br/> +And I who have rifled the dead man’s grave<br/> +Shall never have rest in my own.<br/> +<br/> +Bury me in lead when I am dead,<br/> +My brethren I intreat,<br/> +And see the coffin weigh’d I beg<br/> +Lest the Plumber should be a cheat.<br/> +<br/> +And let it be solder’d closely down<br/> +Strong as strong can be I implore,<br/> +And put it in a patent coffin,<br/> +That I may rise no more.<br/> +<br/> +If they carry me off in the patent coffin<br/> +Their labour will be in vain,<br/> +Let the Undertaker see it bought of the maker<br/> +Who lives by St. Martin’s lane.<br/> +<br/> +And bury me in my brother’s church<br/> +For that will safer be,<br/> +And I implore lock the church door<br/> +And pray take care of the key.<br/> +<br/> +And all night long let three stout men<br/> +The vestry watch within,<br/> +To each man give a gallon of beer<br/> +And a keg of Holland’s gin;<br/> +<br/> +Powder and ball and blunder-buss<br/> +To save me if he can,<br/> +And eke five guineas if he shoot<br/> +A resurrection man.<br/> +<br/> +And let them watch me for three weeks<br/> +My wretched corpse to save,<br/> +For then I think that I may stink<br/> +Enough to rest in my grave.<br/> +<br/> +The Surgeon laid him down in his bed,<br/> +His eyes grew deadly dim,<br/> +Short came his breath and the struggle of death<br/> +Distorted every limb.<br/> +<br/> +They put him in lead when he was dead<br/> +And shrouded up so neat,<br/> +And they the leaden coffin weigh<br/> +Lest the Plumber should be a cheat.<br/> +<br/> +They had it solder’d closely down<br/> +And examined it o’er and o’er,<br/> +And they put it in a patent coffin<br/> +That he might rise no more.<br/> +<br/> +For to carry him off in a patent coffin<br/> +Would they thought be but labour in vain,<br/> +So the Undertaker saw it bought of the maker<br/> +Who lives by St. Martin’s lane.<br/> +<br/> +In his brother’s church they buried him<br/> +That safer he might be,<br/> +They lock’d the door and would not trust<br/> +The Sexton with the key.<br/> +<br/> +And three men in the vestry watch<br/> +To save him if they can,<br/> +And should he come there to shoot they swear<br/> +A resurrection man.<br/> +<br/> +And the first night by lanthorn light<br/> +Thro’ the church-yard as they went,<br/> +A guinea of gold the sexton shewed<br/> +That Mister Joseph sent.<br/> +<br/> +But conscience was tough, it was not enough<br/> +And their honesty never swerved,<br/> +And they bade him go with Mister Joe<br/> +To the Devil as he deserved.<br/> +<br/> +So all night long by the vestry fire<br/> +They quaff’d their gin and ale,<br/> +And they did drink as you may think<br/> +And told full many a tale.<br/> +<br/> +The second night by lanthorn light<br/> +Thro’ the church-yard as they went,<br/> +He whisper’d anew and shew’d them two<br/> +That Mister Joseph sent.<br/> +<br/> +The guineas were bright and attracted their sight<br/> +They look’d so heavy and new,<br/> +And their fingers itch’d as they were bewitch’d<br/> +And they knew not what to do.<br/> +<br/> +But they waver’d not long for conscience was strong<br/> +And they thought they might get more,<br/> +And they refused the gold, but not<br/> +So rudely as before.<br/> +<br/> +So all night long by the vestry fire<br/> +They quaff’d their gin and ale,<br/> +And they did drink as you may think<br/> +And told full many a tale.<br/> +<br/> +The third night as by lanthorn light<br/> +Thro’ the church-yard they went,<br/> +He bade them see and shew’d them three<br/> +That Mister Joseph sent.<br/> +<br/> +They look’d askance with eager glance,<br/> +The guineas they shone bright,<br/> +For the Sexton on the yellow gold<br/> +Let fall his lanthorn light.<br/> +<br/> +And he look’d sly with his roguish eye<br/> +And gave a well-tim’d wink,<br/> +And they could not stand the sound in his hand<br/> +For he made the guineas chink.<br/> +<br/> +And conscience late that had such weight,<br/> +All in a moment fails,<br/> +For well they knew that it was true<br/> +A dead man told no tales,<br/> +<br/> +And they gave all their powder and ball<br/> +And took the gold so bright,<br/> +And they drank their beer and made good cheer,<br/> +Till now it was midnight.<br/> +<br/> +Then, tho’ the key of the church door<br/> +Was left with the Parson his brother,<br/> +It opened at the Sexton’s touch—<br/> +Because he had another.<br/> +<br/> +And in they go with that villain Joe<br/> +To fetch the body by night,<br/> +And all the church look’d dismally<br/> +By his dark lanthorn light.<br/> +<br/> +They laid the pick-axe to the stones<br/> +And they moved them soon asunder.<br/> +They shovell’d away the hard-prest clay<br/> +And came to the coffin under.<br/> +<br/> +They burst the patent coffin first<br/> +And they cut thro’ the lead,<br/> +And they laugh’d aloud when they saw the shroud<br/> +Because they had got at the dead.<br/> +<br/> +And they allowed the Sexton the shroud<br/> +And they put the coffin back,<br/> +And nose and knees they then did squeeze<br/> +The Surgeon in a sack.<br/> +<br/> +The watchmen as they past along<br/> +Full four yards off could smell,<br/> +And a curse bestowed upon the load<br/> +So disagreeable.<br/> +<br/> +So they carried the sack a-pick-a-back<br/> +And they carv’d him bone from bone,<br/> +But what became of the Surgeon’s soul<br/> +Was never to mortal known. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section14"></a>The Victory</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Hark—how the church-bells thundering harmony<br/> +Stuns the glad ear! tidings of joy have come,<br/> +Good tidings of great joy! two gallant ships<br/> +Met on the element,—they met, they fought<br/> +A desperate fight!—good tidings of great joy!<br/> +Old England triumphed! yet another day<br/> +Of glory for the ruler of the waves!<br/> +For those who fell, ’twas in their country’s cause,<br/> +They have their passing paragraphs of praise<br/> +And are forgotten.<br/> +There was one who died<br/> +In that day’s glory, whose obscurer name<br/> +No proud historian’s page will chronicle.<br/> +Peace to his honest soul! I read his name,<br/> +’Twas in the list of slaughter, and blest God<br/> +The sound was not familiar to mine ear.<br/> +But it was told me after that this man<br/> +Was one whom lawful violence<a href="#fn10" name="fnref10" id="fnref10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> had forced<br/> +From his own home and wife and little ones,<br/> +Who by his labour lived; that he was one<br/> +Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel<br/> +A husband’s love, a father’s anxiousness,<br/> +That from the wages of his toil he fed<br/> +The distant dear ones, and would talk of them<br/> +At midnight when he trod the silent deck<br/> +With him he valued, talk of them, of joys<br/> +That he had known—oh God! and of the hour<br/> +When they should meet again, till his full heart<br/> +His manly heart at last would overflow<br/> +Even like a child’s with very tenderness.<br/> +Peace to his honest spirit! suddenly<br/> +It came, and merciful the ball of death,<br/> +For it came suddenly and shattered him,<br/> +And left no moment’s agonizing thought<br/> +On those he loved so well.<br/> +He ocean deep<br/> +Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter<br/> +Who art the widow’s friend! Man does not know<br/> +What a cold sickness made her blood run back<br/> +When first she heard the tidings of the fight;<br/> +Man does not know with what a dreadful hope<br/> +She listened to the names of those who died,<br/> +Man does not know, or knowing will not heed,<br/> +With what an agony of tenderness<br/> +She gazed upon her children, and beheld<br/> +His image who was gone. Oh God! be thou<br/> +Her comforter who art the widow’s friend! +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn10" id="fn10"></a> <a href="#fnref10">[10]</a> +The person alluded to was pressed into the service +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section15"></a>Henry the Hermit</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +It was a little island where he dwelt,<br/> +Or rather a lone rock, barren and bleak,<br/> +Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots<br/> +Its gray stone surface. Never mariner<br/> +Approach’d that rude and uninviting coast,<br/> +Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark<br/> +Anchored beside its shore. It was a place<br/> +Befitting well a rigid anchoret,<br/> +Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys<br/> +And purposes of life; and he had dwelt<br/> +Many long years upon that lonely isle,<br/> +For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms,<br/> +Honours and friends and country and the world,<br/> +And had grown old in solitude. That isle<br/> +Some solitary man in other times<br/> +Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found<br/> +The little chapel that his toil had built<br/> +Now by the storms unroofed, his bed of leaves<br/> +Wind-scattered, and his grave o’ergrown with grass,<br/> +And thistles, whose white seeds winged in vain<br/> +Withered on rocks, or in the waves were lost.<br/> +So he repaired the chapel’s ruined roof,<br/> +Clear’d the grey lichens from the altar-stone,<br/> +And underneath a rock that shelter’d him<br/> +From the sea blasts, he built his hermitage.<br/> +<br/> +The peasants from the shore would bring him food<br/> +And beg his prayers; but human converse else<br/> +He knew not in that utter solitude,<br/> +Nor ever visited the haunts of men<br/> +Save when some sinful wretch on a sick bed<br/> +Implored his blessing and his aid in death.<br/> +That summons he delayed not to obey,<br/> +Tho’ the night tempest or autumnal wind.<br/> +Maddened the waves, and tho’ the mariner,<br/> +Albeit relying on his saintly load,<br/> +Grew pale to see the peril. So he lived<br/> +A most austere and self-denying man,<br/> +Till abstinence, and age, and watchfulness<br/> +Exhausted him, and it was pain at last<br/> +To rise at midnight from his bed of leaves<br/> +And bend his knees in prayer. Yet not the less<br/> +Tho’ with reluctance of infirmity,<br/> +He rose at midnight from his bed of leaves<br/> +And bent his knees in prayer; but with more zeal<br/> +More self-condemning fervour rais’d his voice<br/> +For pardon for that sin, till that the sin<br/> +Repented was a joy like a good deed.<br/> +<br/> +One night upon the shore his chapel bell<br/> +Was heard; the air was calm, and its far sounds<br/> +Over the water came distinct and loud.<br/> +Alarmed at that unusual hour to hear<br/> +Its toll irregular, a monk arose.<br/> +The boatmen bore him willingly across<br/> +For well the hermit Henry was beloved.<br/> +He hastened to the chapel, on a stone<br/> +Henry was sitting there, cold, stiff and dead,<br/> +The bell-rope in his band, and at his feet<br/> +The lamp<a href="#fn11" name="fnref11" id="fnref11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> that stream’d a long unsteady light +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn11" id="fn11"></a> <a href="#fnref11">[11]</a> +This story is related in the English Martyrology, 1608. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="section16"></a>English Eclogues</h2> + +<p class="p2"> +The following Eclogues I believe, bear no resemblance to any poems in our +language. This species of composition has become popular in Germany, and I was +induced to attempt by an account of the German Idylls given me in conversation. +They cannot properly be stiled imitations, as I am ignorant of that language at +present, and have never seen any translations or specimens in this kind. +</p> + +<p> +With bad Eclogues I am sufficiently acquainted, from Tityrus and Corydon down +to our English Strephons and Thirsises. No kind of poetry can boast of more +illustrious names or is more distinguished by the servile dulness of imitated +nonsense. Pastoral writers “more silly than their sheep” have like +their sheep gone on in the same track one after another. Gay stumbled into a +new path. His eclogues were the only ones that interested me when I was a boy, +and did not know they were burlesque. The subject would furnish matter for a +long essay, but this is not the place for it. +</p> + +<p> +How far poems requiring almost a colloquial plainness of language may accord +with the public taste I am doubtful. They have been subjected to able criticism +and revised with care. I have endeavoured to make them true to nature. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section17"></a>Eclogue I ­ The Old Mansion House</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Old friend! why you seem bent on parish duty,<br/> +Breaking the highway stones,—and ’tis a task<br/> +Somewhat too hard methinks for age like yours.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +Why yes! for one with such a weight of years<br/> +Upon his back. I’ve lived here, man and boy,<br/> +In this same parish, near the age of man<br/> +For I am hard upon threescore and ten.<br/> +I can remember sixty years ago<br/> +The beautifying of this mansion here<br/> +When my late Lady’s father, the old Squire<br/> +Came to the estate.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Why then you have outlasted<br/> +All his improvements, for you see they’re making<br/> +Great alterations here.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +Aye-great indeed!<br/> +And if my poor old Lady could rise up—<br/> +God rest her soul! ’twould grieve her to behold<br/> +The wicked work is here.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +They’ve set about it<br/> +In right good earnest. All the front is gone,<br/> +Here’s to be turf they tell me, and a road<br/> +Round to the door. There were some yew trees too<br/> +Stood in the court.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +Aye Master! fine old trees!<br/> +My grandfather could just remember back<br/> +When they were planted there. It was my task<br/> +To keep them trimm’d, and ’twas a pleasure to me!<br/> +All strait and smooth, and like a great green wall!<br/> +My poor old Lady many a time would come<br/> +And tell me where to shear, for she had played<br/> +In childhood under them, and ’twas her pride<br/> +To keep them in their beauty. Plague I say<br/> +On their new-fangled whimsies! we shall have<br/> +A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs<br/> +And your pert poplar trees;—I could as soon<br/> +Have plough’d my father’s grave as cut them down!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +But ’twill be lighter and more chearful now,<br/> +A fine smooth turf, and with a gravel road<br/> +Round for the carriage,—now it suits my taste.<br/> +I like a shrubbery too, it looks so fresh,<br/> +And then there’s some variety about it.<br/> +In spring the lilac and the gueldres rose,<br/> +And the laburnum with its golden flowers<br/> +Waving in the wind. And when the autumn comes<br/> +The bright red berries of the mountain ash,<br/> +With firs enough in winter to look green,<br/> +And show that something lives. Sure this is better<br/> +Than a great hedge of yew that makes it look<br/> +All the year round like winter, and for ever<br/> +Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under boughs<br/> +So dry and bare!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +Ah! so the new Squire thinks<br/> +And pretty work he makes of it! what ’tis<br/> +To have a stranger come to an old house!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +It seems you know him not?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +No Sir, not I.<br/> +They tell me he’s expected daily now,<br/> +But in my Lady’s time he never came<br/> +But once, for they were very distant kin.<br/> +If he had played about here when a child<br/> +In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries,<br/> +And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers,<br/> +That fell so thick, he had not had the heart<br/> +To mar all thus.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Come—come! all a not wrong.<br/> +Those old dark windows—<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +They’re demolish’d too—<br/> +As if he could not see thro’ casement glass!<br/> +The very red-breasts that so regular<br/> +Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,<br/> +Won’t know the window now!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Nay they were high<br/> +And then so darken’d up with jessamine,<br/> +Harbouring the vermine;—that was a fine tree<br/> +However. Did it not grow in and line<br/> +The porch?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +All over it: it did one good<br/> +To pass within ten yards when ’twas in blossom.<br/> +There was a sweet-briar too that grew beside.<br/> +My Lady loved at evening to sit there<br/> +And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet<br/> +And slept in the sun; ’twas an old favourite dog<br/> +She did not love him less that he was old<br/> +And feeble, and he always had a place<br/> +By the fire-side, and when he died at last<br/> +She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.<br/> +Ah I she was good to all! a woful day<br/> +’Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +They lost a friend then?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +You’re a stranger here<br/> +Or would not ask that question. Were they sick?<br/> +She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs<br/> +She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter<br/> +When weekly she distributed the bread<br/> +In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear<br/> +The blessings on her! and I warrant them<br/> +They were a blessing to her when her wealth<br/> +Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!<br/> +It would have warm’d your heart if you had seen<br/> +Her Christmas kitchen,—how the blazing fire<br/> +Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs<br/> +So chearful red,—and as for misseltoe,<br/> +The finest bough that grew in the country round<br/> +Was mark’d for Madam. Then her old ale went<br/> +So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,<br/> +And ’twas a noble one! God help me Sir!<br/> +But I shall never see such days again.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Things may be better yet than you suppose<br/> +And you should hope the best.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +It don’t look well<br/> +These alterations Sir! I’m an old man<br/> +And love the good old fashions; we don’t find<br/> +Old bounty in new houses. They’ve destroyed<br/> +All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk<br/> +Grubb’d up, and they do say that the great row<br/> +Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top<br/> +They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think<br/> +To live to see all this, and ’tis perhaps<br/> +A comfort I shan’t live to see it long.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +But sure all changes are not needs for the worse<br/> +My friend.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Old Man</i></b>.<br/> +May-hap they mayn’t Sir;—for all that<br/> +I like what I’ve been us’d to. I remember<br/> +All this from a child up, and now to lose it,<br/> +’Tis losing an old friend. There’s nothing left<br/> +As ’twas;—I go abroad and only meet<br/> +With men whose fathers I remember boys;<br/> +The brook that used to run before my door<br/> +That’s gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt<br/> +To climb are down; and I see nothing now<br/> +That tells me of old times, except the stones<br/> +In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope<br/> +Have many years in store,—but pray to God<br/> +You mayn’t be left the last of all your friends.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Stranger</i></b>.<br/> +Well! well! you’ve one friend more than you’re aware of.<br/> +If the Squire’s taste don’t suit with your’s, I warrant<br/> +That’s all you’ll quarrel with: walk in and taste<br/> +His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady<br/> +E’er broached a better cask. You did not know me,<br/> +But we’re acquainted now. ’Twould not be easy<br/> +To make you like the outside; but within—<br/> +That is not changed my friend! you’ll always find<br/> +The same old bounty and old welcome there. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section18"></a>Eclogue II ­The Grandmother’s Tale</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b><i>Jane</i></b>.<br/> +Harry! I’m tired of playing. We’ll draw round<br/> +The fire, and Grandmamma perhaps will tell us<br/> +One of her stories.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +Aye—dear Grandmamma!<br/> +A pretty story! something dismal now;<br/> +A bloody murder.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Jane</i></b>.<br/> +Or about a ghost.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Nay, nay, I should but frighten you. You know<br/> +The other night when I was telling you<br/> +About the light in the church-yard, how you trembled<br/> +Because the screech-owl hooted at the window,<br/> +And would not go to bed.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Jane</i></b>.<br/> +Why Grandmamma<br/> +You said yourself you did not like to hear him.<br/> +Pray now! we wo’nt be frightened.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Well, well, children!<br/> +But you’ve heard all my stories. Let me see,—<br/> +Did I never tell you how the smuggler murdered<br/> +The woman down at Pill?<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +No—never! never!<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Not how he cut her head off in the stable?<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +Oh—now! do tell us that!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +You must have heard<br/> +Your Mother, children! often tell of her.<br/> +Sheused to weed in the garden here, and worm<br/> +Your uncle’s dogs,<a href="#fn12" name="fnref12" id="fnref12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> and serve the house with coal;<br/> +And glad enough she was in winter time<br/> +To drive her asses here! it was cold work<br/> +To follow the slow beasts thro’ sleet and snow,<br/> +And here she found a comfortable meal<br/> +And a brave fire to thaw her, for poor Moll<br/> +Was always welcome.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +Oh—’twas blear-eyed Moll<br/> +The collier woman,—a great ugly woman,<br/> +I’ve heard of her.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Ugly enough poor soul!<br/> +At ten yards distance you could hardly tell<br/> +If it were man or woman, for her voice<br/> +Was rough as our old mastiff’s, and she wore<br/> +A man’s old coat and hat,—and then her face!<br/> +There was a merry story told of her,<br/> +How when the press-gang came to take her husband<br/> +As they were both in bed, she heard them coming,<br/> +Drest John up in her night-cap, and herself<br/> +Put on his clothes and went before the Captain.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Jane</i></b>.<br/> +And so they prest a woman!<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +’Twas a trick<br/> +She dearly loved to tell, and all the country<br/> +Soon knew the jest, for she was used to travel<br/> +For miles around. All weathers and all hours<br/> +She crossed the hill, as hardy as her beasts,<br/> +Bearing the wind and rain and winter frosts,<br/> +And if she did not reach her home at night<br/> +She laid her down in the stable with her asses<br/> +And slept as sound as they did.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +With her asses!<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Yes, and she loved her beasts. For tho’ poor wretch<br/> +She was a terrible reprobate and swore<br/> +Like any trooper, she was always good<br/> +To the dumb creatures, never loaded them<br/> +Beyond their strength, and rather I believe<br/> +Would stint herself than let the poor beasts want,<br/> +Because, she said, they could not ask for food.<br/> +I never saw her stick fall heavier on them<br/> +Than just with its own weight. She little thought<br/> +This tender-heartedness would be her death!<br/> +There was a fellow who had oftentimes,<br/> +As if he took delight in cruelty.<br/> +Ill-used her Asses. He was one who lived<br/> +By smuggling, and, for she had often met him<br/> +Crossing the down at night, she threatened him,<br/> +If he tormented them again, to inform<br/> +Of his unlawful ways. Well—so it was—<br/> +’Twas what they both were born to, he provoked her,<br/> +She laid an information, and one morn<br/> +They found her in the stable, her throat cut<br/> +From ear to ear, till the head only hung<br/> +Just by a bit of skin.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Jane</i></b>.<br/> +Oh dear! oh dear!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +I hope they hung the man!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +They took him up;<br/> +There was no proof, no one had seen the deed,<br/> +And he was set at liberty. But God<br/> +Whoss eye beholdeth all things, he had seen<br/> +The murder, and the murderer knew that God<br/> +Was witness to his crime. He fled the place,<br/> +But nowhere could he fly the avenging hand<br/> +Of heaven, but nowhere could the murderer rest,<br/> +A guilty conscience haunted him, by day,<br/> +By night, in company, in solitude,<br/> +Restless and wretched, did he bear upon him<br/> +The weight of blood; her cries were in his ears,<br/> +Her stifled groans as when he knelt upon her<br/> +Always he heard; always he saw her stand<br/> +Before his eyes; even in the dead of night<br/> +Distinctly seen as tho’ in the broad sun,<br/> +She stood beside the murderer’s bed and yawn’d<br/> +Her ghastly wound; till life itself became<br/> +A punishment at last he could not bear,<br/> +And he confess’d<a href="#fn13" name="fnref13" id="fnref13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> it all, and gave himself<br/> +To death, so terrible, he said, it was<br/> +To have a guilty conscience!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Harry</i></b>.<br/> +Was he hung then?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Grandmother</i></b>.<br/> +Hung and anatomized. Poor wretched man,<br/> +Your uncles went to see him on his trial,<br/> +He was so pale, so thin, so hollow-eyed,<br/> +And such a horror in his meagre face,<br/> +They said he look’d like one who never slept.<br/> +He begg’d the prayers of all who saw his end<br/> +And met his death with fears that well might warn<br/> +From guilt, tho’ not without a hope in Christ. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn12" id="fn12"></a> <a href="#fnref12">[12]</a> +I know not whether this cruel and stupid custom is common in other parts of +England. It is supposed to prevent the dogs from doing any mischief should they +afterwards become mad. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn13" id="fn13"></a> <a href="#fnref13">[13]</a> +There must be many persons living who remember these circumstances. They +happened two or three and twenty years ago, in the neighbourhood of Bristol. +The woman’s name was Bees. The stratagem by which she preserved her +husband from the press-gang, is also true. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section19"></a>Eclogue III ­ The Funeral</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The coffin<a href="#fn14" name="fnref14" id="fnref14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> as I past across the lane<br/> +Came sudden on my view. It was not here,<br/> +A sight of every day, as in the streets<br/> +Of the great city, and we paus’d and ask’d<br/> +Who to the grave was going. It was one,<br/> +A village girl, they told us, who had borne<br/> +An eighteen months strange illness, and had pined<br/> +With such slow wasting that the hour of death<br/> +Came welcome to her. We pursued our way<br/> +To the house of mirth, and with that idle talk<br/> +That passes o’er the mind and is forgot,<br/> +We wore away the time. But it was eve<br/> +When homewardly I went, and in the air<br/> +Was that cool freshness, that discolouring shade<br/> +That makes the eye turn inward. Then I heard<br/> +Over the vale the heavy toll of death<br/> +Sound slow; it made me think upon the dead,<br/> +I questioned more and learnt her sorrowful tale.<br/> +She bore unhusbanded a mother’s name,<br/> +And he who should have cherished her, far off<br/> +Sail’d on the seas, self-exil’d from his home,<br/> +For he was poor. Left thus, a wretched one,<br/> +Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues<br/> +Were busy with her name. She had one ill<br/> +Heavier, neglect, forgetfulness from him<br/> +Whom she had loved so dearly. Once he wrote,<br/> +But only once that drop of comfort came<br/> +To mingle with her cup of wretchedness;<br/> +And when his parents had some tidings from him,<br/> +There was no mention of poor Hannah there,<br/> +Or ’twas the cold enquiry, bitterer<br/> +Than silence. So she pined and pined away<br/> +And for herself and baby toil’d and toil’d,<br/> +Nor did she, even on her death bed, rest<br/> +From labour, knitting with her outstretch’d arms<br/> +Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old mother<br/> +Omitted no kind office, and she work’d<br/> +Hard, and with hardest working barely earn’d<br/> +Enough to make life struggle and prolong<br/> +The pains of grief and sickness. Thus she lay<br/> +On the sick bed of poverty, so worn<br/> +With her long suffering and that painful thought<br/> +That at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,<br/> +That she could make no effort to express<br/> +Affection for her infant; and the child,<br/> +Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her<br/> +With a strange infantine ingratitude<br/> +Shunn’d her as one indifferent. She was past<br/> +That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,<br/> +And ’twas her only comfoft now to think<br/> +Upon the grave. “Poor girl!” her mother said,<br/> +“Thou hast suffered much!” “aye mother! there is none<br/> +“Can tell what I have suffered!” she replied,<br/> +“But I shall soon be where the weary rest.”<br/> +And she did rest her soon, for it pleased God<br/> +To take her to his mercy. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn14" id="fn14"></a> <a href="#fnref14">[14]</a> +It is proper to remark that the story related in this Eclogue is strictly true. +I met the funeral, and learnt the circumstances in a village in Hampshire. The +indifference of the child was mentioned to me; indeed no addition whatever has +been made to the story. I should have thought it wrong to have weakened the +effect of a faithful narrative by adding any thing. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section20"></a>Eclogue IV ­ The Sailor’s Mother</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +Sir for the love of God some small relief<br/> +To a poor woman!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Whither are you bound?<br/> +’Tis a late hour to travel o’er these downs,<br/> +No house for miles around us, and the way<br/> +Dreary and wild. The evening wind already<br/> +Makes one’s teeth chatter, and the very Sun,<br/> +Setting so pale behind those thin white clouds,<br/> +Looks cold. ’Twill be a bitter night!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +Aye Sir<br/> +’Tis cutting keen! I smart at every breath,<br/> +Heaven knows how I shall reach my journey’s end,<br/> +For the way is long before me, and my feet,<br/> +God help me! sore with travelling. I would gladly,<br/> +If it pleased God, lie down at once and die.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Nay nay cheer up! a little food and rest<br/> +Will comfort you; and then your journey’s end<br/> +Will make amends for all. You shake your head,<br/> +And weep. Is it some evil business then<br/> +That leads you from your home?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +Sir I am going<br/> +To see my son at Plymouth, sadly hurt<br/> +In the late action, and in the hospital<br/> +Dying, I fear me, now.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Perhaps your fears<br/> +Make evil worse. Even if a limb be lost<br/> +There may be still enough for comfort left<br/> +An arm or leg shot off, there’s yet the heart<br/> +To keep life warm, and he may live to talk<br/> +With pleasure of the glorious fight that maim’d him,<br/> +Proud of his loss. Old England’s gratitude<br/> +Makes the maim’d sailor happy.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +’Tis not that—<br/> +An arm or leg—I could have borne with that.<br/> +’Twas not a ball, it was some cursed thing<br/> +Which bursts<a href="#fn15" name="fnref15" id="fnref15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> and burns that hurt him. Something Sir<br/> +They do not use on board our English ships<br/> +It is so wicked!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Rascals! a mean art<br/> +Of cruel cowardice, yet all in vain!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +Yes Sir! and they should show no mercy to them<br/> +For making use of such unchristian arms.<br/> +I had a letter from the hospital,<br/> +He got some friend to write it, and he tells me<br/> +That my poor boy has lost his precious eyes,<br/> +Burnt out. Alas! that I should ever live<br/> +To see this wretched day!—they tell me Sir<br/> +There is no cure for wounds like his. Indeed<br/> +’Tis a hard journey that I go upon<br/> +To such a dismal end!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +He yet may live.<br/> +But if the worst should chance, why you must bear<br/> +The will of heaven with patience. Were it not<br/> +Some comfort to reflect your son has fallen<br/> +Fighting his country’s cause? and for yourself<br/> +You will not in unpitied poverty<br/> +Be left to mourn his loss. Your grateful country<br/> +Amid the triumph of her victory<br/> +Remember those who paid its price of blood,<br/> +And with a noble charity relieves<br/> +The widow and the orphan.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +God reward them!<br/> +God bless them, it will help me in my age<br/> +But Sir! it will not pay me for my child!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Was he your only child?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +My only one,<br/> +The stay and comfort of my widowhood,<br/> +A dear good boy!—when first he went to sea<br/> +I felt what it would come to,—something told me<br/> +I should be childless soon. But tell me Sir<br/> +If it be true that for a hurt like his<br/> +There is no cure? please God to spare his life<br/> +Tho’ he be blind, yet I should be so thankful!<br/> +I can remember there was a blind man<br/> +Lived in our village, one from his youth up<br/> +Quite dark, and yet he was a merry man,<br/> +And he had none to tend on him so well<br/> +As I would tend my boy!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Of this be sure<br/> +His hurts are look’d to well, and the best help<br/> +The place affords, as rightly is his due,<br/> +Ever at hand. How happened it he left you?<br/> +Was a seafaring life his early choice?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +No Sir! poor fellow—he was wise enough<br/> +To be content at home, and ’twas a home<br/> +As comfortable Sir I even tho’ I say it,<br/> +As any in the country. He was left<br/> +A little boy when his poor father died,<br/> +Just old enough to totter by himself<br/> +And call his mother’s name. We two were all,<br/> +And as we were not left quite destitute<br/> +We bore up well. In the summer time I worked<br/> +Sometimes a-field. Then I was famed for knitting,<br/> +And in long winter nights my spinning wheel<br/> +Seldom stood still. We had kind neighbours too<br/> +And never felt distress. So he grew up<br/> +A comely lad and wonderous well disposed;<br/> +I taught him well; there was not in the parish<br/> +A child who said his prayers more regular,<br/> +Or answered readier thro’ his catechism.<br/> +If I had foreseen this! but ’tis a blessing<br/> +We do’nt know what we’re born to!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +But how came it<br/> +He chose to be a Sailor?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +You shall hear Sir;<br/> +As he grew up he used to watch the birds<br/> +In the corn, child’s work you know, and easily done.<br/> +’Tis an idle sort of task, so he built up<br/> +A little hut of wicker-work and clay<br/> +Under the hedge, to shelter him in rain.<br/> +And then he took for very idleness<br/> +To making traps to catch the plunderers,<br/> +All sorts of cunning traps that boys can make—<br/> +Propping a stone to fall and shut them in,<br/> +Or crush them with its weight, or else a springe<br/> +Swung on a bough. He made them cleverly—<br/> +And I, poor foolish woman! I was pleased<br/> +To see the boy so handy. You may guess<br/> +What followed Sir from this unlucky skill.<br/> +He did what he should not when he was older:<br/> +I warn’d him oft enough; but he was caught<br/> +In wiring hares at last, and had his choice<br/> +The prison or the ship.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +The choice at least<br/> +Was kindly left him, and for broken laws<br/> +This was methinks no heavy punishment.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +So I was told Sir. And I tried to think so,<br/> +But ’twas a sad blow to me! I was used<br/> +To sleep at nights soundly and undisturb’d—<br/> +Now if the wind blew rough, it made me start<br/> +And think of my poor boy tossing about<br/> +Upon the roaring seas. And then I seem’d<br/> +To feel that it was hard to take him from me<br/> +For such a little fault. But he was wrong<br/> +Oh very wrong—a murrain on his traps!<br/> +See what they’ve brought him too!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Traveller</i></b>.<br/> +Well! well! take comfort<br/> +He will be taken care of if he lives;<br/> +And should you lose your child, this is a country<br/> +Where the brave sailor never leaves a parent<br/> +To weep for him in want.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Woman</i></b>.<br/> +Sir I shall want<br/> +No succour long. In the common course of years<br/> +I soon must be at rest, and ’tis a comfort<br/> +When grief is hard upon me to reflect<br/> +It only leads me to that rest the sooner. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn15" id="fn15"></a> <a href="#fnref15">[15]</a> +The stink-pots used on board the French ships. In the engagement between the +Mars and L’Hercule, some of our sailors were shockingly mangled by them: +One in particular, as described in the Eclogue, lost both his eyes. It would be +policy and humanity to employ means of destruction, could they be discovered, +powerful enough to destroy fleets and armies, but to use any thing that only +inflicts additional torture upon the victims of our war systems, is cruel and +wicked. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section21"></a>Eclogue V ­ The Witch</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +Father! here father! I have found a horse-shoe!<br/> +Faith it was just in time, for t’other night<br/> +I laid two straws across at Margery’s door,<br/> +And afterwards I fear’d that she might do me<br/> +A mischief for’t. There was the Miller’s boy<br/> +Who set his dog at that black cat of hers,<br/> +I met him upon crutches, and he told me<br/> +’Twas all her evil eye.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +’Tis rare good luck;<br/> +I would have gladly given a crown for one<br/> +If t’would have done as well. But where did’st find it?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +Down on the Common; I was going a-field<br/> +And neighbour Saunders pass’d me on his mare;<br/> +He had hardly said “good day,” before I saw<br/> +The shoe drop off; ’twas just upon my tongue<br/> +To call him back,—it makes no difference, does it.<br/> +Because I know whose ’twas?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +Why no, it can’t.<br/> +The shoe’s the same you know, and you <i>did find</i> it.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +That mare of his has got a plaguey road<br/> +To travel, father, and if he should lame her,<br/> +For she is but tender-footed,—<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +Aye, indeed—<br/> +I should not like to see her limping back<br/> +Poor beast! but charity begins at home,<br/> +And Nat, there’s our own horse in such a way<br/> +This morning!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +Why he ha’nt been rid again!<br/> +Last night I hung a pebble by the manger<br/> +With a hole thro’, and every body says<br/> +That ’tis a special charm against the hags.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +It could not be a proper natural hole then,<br/> +Or ’twas not a right pebble,—for I found him<br/> +Smoking with sweat, quaking in every limb,<br/> +And panting so! God knows where he had been<br/> +When we were all asleep, thro’ bush and brake<br/> +Up-hill and down-hill all alike, full stretch<br/> +At such a deadly rate!—<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +By land and water,<br/> +Over the sea perhaps!—I have heard tell<br/> +That ’tis some thousand miles, almost at the end<br/> +Of the world, where witches go to meet the Devil.<br/> +They used to ride on broomsticks, and to smear<br/> +Some ointment over them and then away<br/> +Out of the window! but ’tis worse than all<br/> +To worry the poor beasts so. Shame upon it<br/> +That in a Christian country they should let<br/> +Such creatures live!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +And when there’s such plain proof!<br/> +I did but threaten her because she robb’d<br/> +Our hedge, and the next night there came a wind<br/> +That made me shake to hear it in my bed!<br/> +How came it that that storm unroofed my barn,<br/> +And only mine in the parish? look at her<br/> +And that’s enough; she has it in her face—<br/> +A pair of large dead eyes, rank in her head,<br/> +Just like a corpse, and purs’d with wrinkles round,<br/> +A nose and chin that scarce leave room between<br/> +For her lean fingers to squeeze in the snuff,<br/> +And when she speaks! I’d sooner hear a raven<br/> +Croak at my door! she sits there, nose and knees<br/> +Smoak-dried and shrivell’d over a starved fire,<br/> +With that black cat beside her, whose great eyes<br/> +Shine like old Beelzebub’s, and to be sure<br/> +It must be one of his imps!—aye, nail it hard.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +I wish old Margery heard the hammer go!<br/> +She’d curse the music.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +Here’s the Curate coming,<br/> +He ought to rid the parish of such vermin;<br/> +In the old times they used to hunt them out<br/> +And hang them without mercy, but Lord bless us!<br/> +The world is grown so wicked!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Good day Farmer!<br/> +Nathaniel what art nailing to the threshold?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +A horse-shoe Sir, ’tis good to keep off witchcraft,<br/> +And we’re afraid of Margery.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Poor old woman!<br/> +What can you fear from her?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +What can we fear?<br/> +Who lamed the Miller’s boy? who rais’d the wind<br/> +That blew my old barn’s roof down? who d’ye think<br/> +Rides my poor horse a’nights? who mocks the hounds?<br/> +But let me catch her at that trick again,<br/> +And I’ve a silver bullet ready for her,<br/> +One that shall lame her, double how she will.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +What makes her sit there moping by herself,<br/> +With no soul near her but that great black cat?<br/> +And do but look at her!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Poor wretch! half blind<br/> +And crooked with her years, without a child<br/> +Or friend in her old age, ’tis hard indeed<br/> +To have her very miseries made her crimes!<br/> +I met her but last week in that hard frost<br/> +That made my young limbs ache, and when I ask’d<br/> +What brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman<br/> +Told me that she was forced to crawl abroad<br/> +And pick the hedges, just to keep herself<br/> +From perishing with cold, because no neighbour<br/> +Had pity on her age; and then she cried,<br/> +And said the children pelted her with snow-balls,<br/> +And wish’d that she were dead.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +I wish she was!<br/> +She has plagued the parish long enough!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Shame farmer!<br/> +Is that the charity your bible teaches?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +My bible does not teach me to love witches.<br/> +I know what’s charity; who pays his tithes<br/> +And poor-rates readier?<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Who can better do it?<br/> +You’ve been a prudent and industrious man,<br/> +And God has blest your labour.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +Why, thank God Sir,<br/> +I’ve had no reason to complain of fortune.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Complain! why you are wealthy. All the parish<br/> +Look up to you.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +Perhaps Sir, I could tell<br/> +Guinea for guinea with the warmest of them.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +You can afford a little to the poor,<br/> +And then what’s better still, you have the heart<br/> +To give from your abundance.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +God forbid<br/> +I should want charity!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +Oh! ’tis a comfort<br/> +To think at last of riches well employ’d!<br/> +I have been by a death-bed, and know the worth<br/> +Of a good deed at that most awful hour<br/> +When riches profit not.<br/> +Farmer, I’m going<br/> +To visit Margery. She is sick I hear—<br/> +Old, poor, and sick! a miserable lot,<br/> +And death will be a blessing. You might send her<br/> +Some little matter, something comfortable,<br/> +That she may go down easier to the grave<br/> +And bless you when she dies.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +What! is she going!<br/> +Well God forgive her then! if she has dealt<br/> +In the black art. I’ll tell my dame of it,<br/> +And she shall send her something.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Curate</i></b>.<br/> +So I’ll say;<br/> +And take my thanks for her’s. [<i>goes</i>]<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +That’s a good man<br/> +That Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit<br/> +The poor in sickness; but he don’t believe<br/> +In witchcraft, and that is not like a christian.<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Nathaniel</i></b>.<br/> +And so old Margery’s dying!<br/> +<br/> +<b><i>Father</i></b>.<br/> +But you know<br/> +She may recover; so drive t’other nail in! +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="section22"></a>Eclogue VI ­ The Ruined Cottage</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Aye Charles! I knew that this would fix thine +eye,<br/> +This woodbine wreathing round the broken porch,<br/> +Its leaves just withering, yet one autumn flower<br/> +Still fresh and fragrant; and yon holly-hock<br/> +That thro’ the creeping weeds and nettles tall<br/> +Peers taller, and uplifts its column’d stem<br/> +Bright with the broad rose-blossoms. I have seen<br/> +Many a fallen convent reverend in decay,<br/> +And many a time have trod the castle courts<br/> +And grass-green halls, yet never did they strike<br/> +Home to the heart such melancholy thoughts<br/> +As this poor cottage. Look, its little hatch<br/> +Fleeced with that grey and wintry moss; the roof<br/> +Part mouldered in, the rest o’ergrown with weeds,<br/> +House-leek and long thin grass and greener moss;<br/> +So Nature wars with all the works of man.<br/> +And, like himself, reduces back to earth<br/> +His perishable piles.<br/> +I led thee here<br/> +Charles, not without design; for this hath been<br/> +My favourite walk even since I was a boy;<br/> +And I remember Charles, this ruin here,<br/> +The neatest comfortable dwelling place!<br/> +That when I read in those dear books that first<br/> +Woke in my heart the love of poesy,<br/> +How with the villagers Erminia dwelt,<br/> +And Calidore for a fair shepherdess<br/> +Forgot his quest to learn the shepherd’s lore;<br/> +My fancy drew from, this the little hut<br/> +Where that poor princess wept her hopeless love,<br/> +Or where the gentle Calidore at eve<br/> +Led Pastorella home. There was not then<br/> +A weed where all these nettles overtop<br/> +The garden wall; but sweet-briar, scenting sweet<br/> +The morning air, rosemary and marjoram,<br/> +All wholesome herbs; and then, that woodbine wreath’d<br/> +So lavishly around the pillared porch<br/> +Its fragrant flowers, that when I past this way,<br/> +After a truant absence hastening home,<br/> +I could not chuse but pass with slacken’d speed<br/> +By that delightful fragrance. Sadly changed<br/> +Is this poor cottage! and its dwellers, Charles!—<br/> +Theirs is a simple melancholy tale,<br/> +There’s scarce a village but can fellow it,<br/> +And yet methinks it will not weary thee,<br/> +And should not be untold.<br/> +A widow woman<br/> +Dwelt with her daughter here; just above want,<br/> +She lived on some small pittance that sufficed,<br/> +In better times, the needful calls of life,<br/> +Not without comfort. I remember her<br/> +Sitting at evening in that open door way<br/> +And spinning in the sun; methinks I see her<br/> +Raising her eyes and dark-rimm’d spectacles<br/> +To see the passer by, yet ceasing not<br/> +To twirl her lengthening thread. Or in the garden<br/> +On some dry summer evening, walking round<br/> +To view her flowers, and pointing, as she lean’d<br/> +Upon the ivory handle of her stick,<br/> +To some carnation whose o’erheavy head<br/> +Needed support, while with the watering-pot<br/> +Joanna followed, and refresh’d and trimm’d<br/> +The drooping plant; Joanna, her dear child,<br/> +As lovely and as happy then as youth<br/> +And innocence could make her.<br/> +Charles! it seems<br/> +As tho’ I were a boy again, and all<br/> +The mediate years with their vicissitudes<br/> +A half-forgotten dream. I see the Maid<br/> +So comely in her Sunday dress! her hair,<br/> +Her bright brown hair, wreath’d in contracting curls,<br/> +And then her cheek! it was a red and white<br/> +That made the delicate hues of art look loathsome,<br/> +The countrymen who on their way to church<br/> +Were leaning o’er the bridge, loitering to hear<br/> +The bell’s last summons, and in idleness<br/> +Watching the stream below, would all look up<br/> +When she pass’d by. And her old Mother, Charles!<br/> +When I have beard some erring infidel<br/> +Speak of our faith as of a gloomy creed,<br/> +Inspiring fear and boding wretchedness.<br/> +Her figure has recurr’d; for she did love<br/> +The sabbath-day, and many a time has cross’d<br/> +These fields in rain and thro’ the winter snows.<br/> +When I, a graceless boy, wishing myself<br/> +By the fire-side, have wondered why <i>she</i> came<br/> +Who might have sate at home.<br/> +One only care<br/> +Hung on her aged spirit. For herself,<br/> +Her path was plain before her, and the close<br/> +Of her long journey near. But then her child<br/> +Soon to be left alone in this bad world,—<br/> +That was a thought that many a winter night<br/> +Had kept her sleepless: and when prudent love<br/> +In something better than a servant’s slate<br/> +Had placed her well at last, it was a pang<br/> +Like parting life to part with her dear girl.<br/> +<br/> +One summer, Charles, when at the holydays<br/> +Return’d from school, I visited again<br/> +My old accustomed walks, and found in them.<br/> +A joy almost like meeting an old friend,<br/> +I saw the cottage empty, and the weeds<br/> +Already crowding the neglected flowers.<br/> +Joanna by a villain’s wiles seduced<br/> +Had played the wanton, and that blow had reach’d<br/> +Her mother’s heart. She did not suffer long,<br/> +Her age was feeble, and the heavy blow<br/> +Brought her grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.<br/> +<br/> +I pass this ruin’d dwelling oftentimes<br/> +And think of other days. It wakes in me<br/> +A transient sadness, but the feelings Charles<br/> +That ever with these recollections rise,<br/> +I trust in God they will not pass away. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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